


Mountains

by Daenarii



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: (meaning i am doing my absolute BEST to make sure everybody stays alive), Adamant, Demands of the Qun, Fluff, Halamshiral, Happy Ending, Hurt and comfort, Inquisitor Lavellan - Freeform, M/M, Mentions of Death, Slow Burn, Sparring partners, each chapter is a sort of vignette, no post schedule, so there isn't really...an overarching plot outside of what the game gives. just guys bein dudes, taros is a companion OC that i made and he loves krem and idk what to tell you!, will add more tags as things pop up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-21
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2020-05-15 21:24:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 23,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19304113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daenarii/pseuds/Daenarii
Summary: After circumstances land Taros Alaven in the Inquisition, he thinks that it's a bit of a mistake: it's always either cold or rainy, he can't read at his own leisure, and he gets worried over whether other people live or die. Eventually, though, he starts to think that it might have been the best thing to happen to him.





	1. Frozen

**Author's Note:**

> I made a playlist for these two because I'm fucking gone! Find it on Playmoss: https://playmoss.com/en/daenarii/playlist/be-the-lightning-in-me-2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haven is gone, and it's constantly blizzarding in the Frostbacks, and Taros just wants a blanket.

Taros isn't built for the cold.

Even coming from Ferelden, he's never liked it. It's hard to fight against, not to mention that he seems more sensitive to it than most. Even just a cracked window is enough to get him wanting a blanket. He prefers opponents he can swing his sword against--even demons. _Especially_ demons.

But this is one thing Taros refuses to share. He refuses to share a lot of things, but his weakness to cold _specifically_. As long as he keeps busy, it's not enough to incapacitate him. He thinks he's even started to get used to it since living at Haven.

But Haven is gone, and it's constantly blizzarding in the Frostbacks, and Taros just wants a _blanket_.

But again: he doesn't want to confess.

Nighttime is especially hard. It's their second night out of Haven, and the Herald still hasn't shown his face. Taros is sitting up, trying to look as dignified as possible with his chin buried against his knees, his hands fisted against his sides and under his leather coat, his eyes glazed as they stare into the fire right in front of him.

He's on the wrong side of the fire. The wind is blowing the heat away from him. He wants to move, but he knows that if he stands, his shivering will be obvious to anyone with eyes. Besides that, his teeth are chattering. He wants the others to think he's mourning, just so they leave him alone and don't hear his shivering.

Taros gives a huff against his knees in an attempt to defrost his nose. He can't feel it--or his ears, or his toes, or his ass. He wishes he could sit on something that wasn't snow, or didn't get wet with snow.

Taros gives a quiet whine when another howling gust of wind nearly pushes him over. He tries to adjust, to pull every part of his body closer to his core, but he's already wound tight. His knees ache with staying bent for so long, but he refuses to unbend them. He's convinced he'll freeze to death if he exposes his torso. He's tempted to crawl into the fire.

His planning is interrupted when something large, heavy, and _warm_ slumps on top of him, blocking his view. His knuckles pop as he unclenches his hands to investigate the item--a blanket--and rearrange it so he can see his surroundings again. When he can, he looks up to meet Krem's gaze.

"Couldn't stand watching you sit out here and shiver your arse off anymore," Krem says by way of explanation. He looks properly bundled up--a scarf, a coat, a blanket. Taros is almost jealous.

Instead, as he rearranges the blanket around his shoulders, he forces a grateful smile. It takes every ounce of self-control he has to keep his lips from shivering. "Thanks," he says, hoping Krem doesn't catch the way his teeth stutter on the consonants.

"Would be easier to keep warm if you were in a tent," Krem says. "Or at least around some others. Fire can only do so much in this wind."

Taros almost snorts as he looks back at the fire. He takes a moment to try and get a hold of himself before he says, with all the forced calmness in the world, "I'll move in a bit." His teeth don't chatter, and he considers it a victory.

"Feeling too cold to move, huh?" Krem asks, a knowing smirk in his voice.

"N-no," Taros answers too quickly. _Dammit._

" _There's_ the stutter I was looking for," Krem says. As he settles down next to Taros--a few inches away, but enough that Taros can feel his warmth--he asks, "Why'd you sit out here in the first place?"

"Why are you sitting here _now_?" Taros asks, not bothering to hide the stutter this time. At least it's getting better; he can feel his hands now, thanks to the blanket.

"I asked first," Krem easily counters. His teeth glint in the firelight with a grin.

Taros huffs, looking at the fire instead. "I didn't think it'd get so windy," he grumbles. "And I don't like crowds."

When Krem only hums in response, Taros glances at him. "Answer my question."

Krem shrugs a shoulder. "Figured I'd help you thaw out so you'd be able to sit somewhere smarter."

Taros pulls the blanket tighter around himself, giving a quiet grunt of acknowledgment. “Thanks,” he grumbles, then glances at Krem. “But--why?”

“‘Fraid you’re gonna have to be a _little_ more specific,” Krem says as he meets Taros’s gaze.

“Why help?” Taros clarifies. “We never really spoke in Haven. You’d rather be over with the others, right?”

“Far as I can tell, you never really speak to _anyone_ ,” Krem answers. “Which is usually fine. But these aren’t usual circumstances.” He averts his eyes, looking at the fire instead. “Middle of nowhere, no hope, no real destination? Easy to lose people if we don’t look out for each other. Nobody else was doing it, so...why not me?”

Taros furrows his brow at Krem. He’s silent for a few moments--longer than he should be, he knows. Finally, he says, “Not...many people do that. Worry about others.” He hesitates again, then adds, “I appreciate it.”

Krem shifts forward to get close to the fire. “Don’t mention it,” he says. “We’re gonna need all hands on deck to fight against whatever the hell that _thing_ was, huh?”

Taros huffs against his knees. “Definitely,” he says.

They lapse into silence then. It’s not uncomfortable--far from it, really, especially with how Taros is beginning to regain feeling in his ears. He lifts them up and down to test how thawed they are. The blanket that Krem gave him is magic; he’s sure of it. It’s way too comfortable and warm to not be.

“Where did you get this blanket anyway?” Taros asks. “I thought they had these under lock and key.”

“It’s mine,” Krem says. “I mentioned I was gonna give it to you, then Bull gave me his--man’s built like a furnace, swear to Andraste. Said the cold never bothered him anyway.” He rolls his eyes. “He just likes showing off his chest. I bet he’ll be asking for it back before bedtime.”

Taros chances a small grin at that. “I’ll give this one to you before that happens, then,” he says. “It feels like you enchanted it.”

“Don’t tell the others,” Krem whispers. “They’ll all be fighting for it then.”

Taros turns his gaze fully to Krem, his grin tugging wider. “Did you really?”

Krem laughs and shakes his head. “‘Course not,” he says. “Where would _I_ get someone to enchant at this hour?”

“I don’t know what kind of contacts you have,” Taros snickers.

He intends to add more, but his attention is stolen by a ruckus on the other side of camp. He turns his head towards the shouting, straightening his back to get a better look. It seems like people are rushing through the tents towards the area.

“What do you think _that’s_ for?” Krem asks.

Taros intends to answer--until he hears the murmurs rippling through the crowd, almost like a prayer.

 _The Herald_.

Taros looks at Krem, eyebrows lifted. Krem looks surprised for a moment, too, until he blinks and a slow grin crosses his face. “Seems like things are looking up, huh?” he asks.

Taros nods. “Should we go see?”

“Suddenly feeling up to moving, are we?” Krem asks, voice light, even as he stands. He offers Taros a hand.

Taros regards the hand carefully before he takes it and pulls himself up. He doesn’t hold Krem’s callused hand for longer than necessary, but he does mumble a quick, “Thanks.”

“Seem’s the Herald’s uplifting in more ways than one,” Krem jokes.

Taros huffs, a grin splitting his mouth again as he rolls his eyes. “That was awful,” he informs Krem as they begin to shuffle through the snow.

“Then why’re you laughing?” Krem asks, grin still broad.

“ _Because_ it was awful.”

As they make their way to the relative warmth of the crowd, trading quips and grins easily, Taros forgets that he isn’t built for the cold. He honestly can’t imagine ever feeling more natural.


	2. Rusty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Inquisition finds Skyhold, and there, Taros finds a sparring partner.

Taros can't decide if he likes Skyhold or not.

On the one hand, he enjoys all the greenery. The walls make it much warmer than Haven ever was. It's comforting to be able to hear the training yard wherever he is. And the main keep is grander than any building Taros has ever stepped foot in.

On the other hand, it reminds him of the alienage. Tall walls are meant to pack in just as much as they're meant to keep out. With the sparring comes an underlying sense of tension, desperation, that makes anything ready to explode. And despite the main keep, there's a funky smell no matter what the groundskeepers do.

The only thing that's missing is the vhenadahl.

Even a few days after "moving in," Taros still can't decide. He's taken to sitting on a stump in the training yard to try and figure it out. He's there now, sharpening his sword--the Inquisitor is heading out in a few days, and should he ask for Taros's assistance, Taros wants to be as ready as possible.

Besides, there's something relaxing about passing a whetstone over his blade. There's a rhythm to it, and Taros is lost in it. That's probably why he jumps when somebody next to him says, "Properly thawed out, I see."

He looks up to meet Krem's grin. He returns it as he says, "Walls help."

"That they do," Krem agrees. He looks ready for action--not in his full armor, but in leathers and durable cloth that's still more practical than casual clothes. "I was just looking for a sparring partner. You interested?"

Taros blinks and furrows his brow. "You're asking _me_?"

"I am," Krem says. "Word around the Hold says you're good at swinging a sword. Is it wrong?"

Taros shakes his head. "No, just--I figured you'd go more for...I don't know, one of the Chargers."

Krem snorts. "Maybe if I didn't have any other option," he says. "They're all great at what they do, but I need someone near my size so the sparring goes to actual _use_. Everyone's either too tall or too short." Krem gives a disarming grin. "You're just right."

Taros huffs. "I'll spar with you," he answers. "But just a disclaimer: after that week in the Frostbacks, I'm pretty rusty." He stands and sets his blade on the stump, the whetstone next to it.

"That's alright," Krem says. "Can't say I'm at the top of my game, either. That's what the spar is for."

They make their way to the training weapon racks in a comfortable silence. Once they reach the racks, however, Taros furrows his brow at all the wooden swords. "Don't you use a maul?"

"Sure do," Krem says. As he grabs an average-sized sword, he says, "Could go grab it, if you don't mind breaking a few ribs today." He flashes Taros a grin as he tests the weight of his weapon.

Taros shakes his head as he picks his own sword. "I'll take a raincheck," he says. "You should have a talk with whoever gives these to us. They could probably make some training mauls."

"Dunno if they'd be much use," Krem says as he swaps his sword for another one. "They're for smashing, right? Smashing wood _never_ ends well. 'Sides, they're harder to balance than swords, so they'd be harder to make with just wood." He tests the weight of his sword again, then nods. "Ready?"

Taros nods as well. As they make their way to the training yard, he says, "Still worth a shot. How much use is this spar gonna be if you're using the wrong weapon?" 

"Dust the cobwebs," Krem says. "Keep me alert and on my toes. That sorta thing. That's all sparring is really _for_ , anyway."

Taros shrugs a shoulder. "If you say so. Your training regimen, not mine." 

They lapse into another silence as they reach the training yard. The majority of the Inquisition's troops use a larger training area at the base of the mountain, but there's also this small one in Skyhold proper for anyone to use. It's more convenient to have two, and the one that they're at now is almost always empty regardless. There are more people who know what they're doing down with the army, so there are more chances to actually learn something.

As Krem and Taros face each other and brandish their swords, Taros asks, "How much should I hold back?"

"Huh!" Krem says, an edged grin on his face. "Arrogant bastard, aren't you?"

"You're not using your regular weapon," Taros says by way of explanation.

"How about you _try_ to knock me on my ass, and if you need _me_ to take it down a notch, you let me know," Krem suggests. "Fair?"

Taros gives a small chuckle. "Alright, Aclassi," he says as he slips into the proper stance, hands tight around his sword's hilt. "Let me see what you've got."

Krem doesn't hesitate before he charges forward. He's fast, too; Taros almost doesn't bring his sword up in time to block Krem's overhead slash. He bares his grit teeth in a feral grin before he shoves Krem away from him.

Krem takes a few light steps back before adopting his stance again. He's better than an untrained rookie--his posture is right, too, which means he's got some training using a sword.

Taros doesn't get to analyze for much longer before Krem attacks again. His sword whistles through the air as he tries to slam it against Taros's side. Taros, again, only barely manages to block the blow; the resulting wooden clang echoes in the training yard.

"Where'd all that cockiness go, huh?" Krem asks as he pulls away again. "You're just defending."

"Can't win if you can't break my defense," Taros quips.

"I must've missed the part where you opted for a shield," Krem says. "You can't defend forever with just a sword."

"Good thing that's not the plan," Taros says.

They fall into silence again, likely sizing each other up. Taros analyzes Krem's movements, catches sight of when he shifts his weight, where he tenses when he anticipates a blow, the set to his jaw just before he charges. Yep, there it is--Krem runs forward again, sword whistling through the air.

Taros brings his sword up with plenty of time to spare. He shoves Krem's sword aside again before he tries to bring his own weapon against Krem's undefended side.

Krem steps back to try and avoid it, but he isn't fast enough; Taros's sword thwacks firmly against Krem's side before they part again, intense gazes locked on each other.

Taros might be holding his own well enough, but he’s still impressed with Krem’s prowess. He saw Krem’s abilities in battle at the Storm Coast, of course, so he already knew Krem was skilled, but it’s nice to see that he isn’t a one-trick pony. He’s fast and powerful (if the way his sword whistles through the air is any indication), and he seems to be smart; Taros can tell he’s adjusting himself, working to school his expressions into a flat mask.

And it works. Krem rushes forward again, and it takes Taros by surprise--there was no set to his jaw beforehand. Krem tries to jab his sword into Taros’s stomach, and Taros doesn’t know where he finds the speed to parry the blow aside.

But unlike the previous attacks, Krem doesn’t break off immediately. He gets in closer and roughly shoves a shoulder against Taros’s chest. Taros takes a step back--enough to unbalance, not to throw to the ground completely.

Again, though, Krem doesn’t back off. He steps forward with Taros and raises his sword, trying to bring it down hard and fast on Taros’s shoulder. Taros parries the blow again, and manages to stick the tip of Krem’s sword to the dirt. He intends to capitalize, but Krem simply lets the weapon _go_.

That’s enough to make Taros look up at him with shock--and for Krem to barrel into him, arms around his midsection. Taros lets out a quiet _oof_ as he hits the ground and as Krem’s weight settles on top of him. He can’t gather his wits until Krem has torn his sword out of his hand and pointed the end at his throat.

Krem has a savage grin on his face. “Told you not to be arrogant.”

“I don’t think you did,” Taros wheezes. “But fine: you win.”

Krem’s grin doesn’t disappear even after he’s stood and offered Taros a hand. “That was a good spar. You almost had me there.”

Taros snorts as he takes Krem’s hand and pulls himself up. “When?” he asks. “Felt like you were a step ahead the whole time.”

“You’re good at predicting,” Krem says. “If I wasn’t so good at being unpredictable, you’d’ve gotten me.”

"I'm usually better at thinking on my feet," Taros grumbles. "Guess I'm rustier than I thought."

"Ah, don't be so hard on yourself," Krem says as he claps Taros's shoulder. "You put up a good fight. I'd spar with you again any day."

"Yeah?" Taros grins at Krem. "Same to you. But that sounds like you're gonna cut this session short."

"'Fraid so," Krem answers. He bends down to pick up their swords. "Boss is hailing me over." He nods in a direction, and when Taros looks, he sees Iron Bull standing near the entrance to the inn, arms crossed.

"I can take care of those," Taros says as he takes the swords from Krem. "You should head over. It might be important."

"If it was important, he would've just cut in," Krem snorts. "Probably just wants to show me something Dalish can do." He rolls his eyes. "Poor girl can do all sorts of tricks with her...bow."

Taros huffs. "Still," he says. "Sparring ring will be here after you're done. And so will I, probably."

"Good to have _some_ hope to cling onto," Krem says. He begins to walk backwards towards Iron Bull, giving Taros a lopsided grin. "See you 'round, huh?"

Taros gives Krem a silent nod before he turns away himself to bring the training swords back to their rightful places.

As he makes his way, he can't help but feel glad that he's found a sparring partner in Krem. Maybe Skyhold isn’t so similar to the alienage after all. And hopefully the next time he and Krem spar, Taros won't be so rusty.


	3. Caught

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taros is falling into a rhythm, and that's always dangerous.

Taros knows this is a bad idea as soon as he lights the candle.

The top of the rampart is silent, of course--the sky above glimmers with a dusting of stars, not to be disturbed by the sun for a few hours. The guards are sleepy, few, and far between. And the candle is small, but it feels like a beacon as it washes Taros’s surrounding area in its warm glow. It’s probably mostly blocked by the parapet, but as Taros settles against the stone wall, he can’t help but feel paranoid about it.

He knows he shouldn’t do this. He can’t really find any privacy unless it’s in the dead of night, and even then, there’s the chance that somebody will walk up on him--a guard or a midnight lover or something.

He knows he shouldn’t do this, and he knows he would have the willpower to fight against it if he didn’t find a copy of the exact book he was in the middle of when everything was blown to shit. The action had been ramping up in it, and Taros had been on the verge of discovering who really murdered the blacksmith’s brother, when he’d been called to a job. And that was that. He never found out what happened.

Until now. Taros inhales deeply before he opens the book, scouring and flipping through pages to try and remind himself of what happened as he catches up to where he’d been when he stopped.

When Taros catches up, he feels himself melt into the story. His limbs relax, and he leans fully against the wall. The wind howling in the distance is soothing, and his eyes ache a little with lack of sleep--but that’s a worthy sacrifice for this peace.

It makes Taros feel like normal. Ever since he made his way to the Temple of Sacred Ashes, everything has changed far too much and far too quickly. Taros reaches up to rub the back of his head, where his newly-trimmed hair is prickled and short. The story helps with letting him forget for a little while.

He reads unimpeded for a few hours. The stars above start to wink out of sight, and his candle has burned down to a nub--but he only has a few more pages _left_. He can finish before he has to--

"Should've figured _you'd_ be the only other one up at this hour."

Taros jumps, slamming the book in his lap shut, as he looks at the source of the voice. "Krem," he greets, voice only a _little_ higher in pitch. 

Seeing that it's nobody he actively dislikes makes him relax a little. Okay, he probably likes Krem more than that; they’ve been sparring for a couple months now. He hasn’t given it much thought, but his body's instincts haven't failed him yet.

"Taros," Krem mimics. His hair is tousled a little, as if he just woke up. He has a loose linen shirt on, the pale color nearly glowing under the moonlight. The shirt's tucked into some darker pants, which in turn are tucked into boots. Altogether, it's a simple outfit, but Taros can't help but notice that Krem pulls it off, even though it's the ass-crack of dawn.

When it's clear that Taros isn't going to say anything else, Krem asks, "What're you doin’ up here?"

Taros burns with curiosity at the story he’s set aside, but he forces himself to slide the book down to his other side in the hopes that Krem hasn't spotted it yet. "I could ask you the same thing."

Krem snorts. "Well," he says. "Stepped outside for some morning air, saw a light up on the ramparts, and figured I'd check it out. Glad to see it's only you."

"Only me?" Taros asks. "I'm as threatening as they come."

"Nah," Krem says. "'Sides, you didn't answer _my_ question. What’re you up to?"

 _Shit._ “Well--I’m just, uh...you know,” Taros tries, sliding his gaze away from Krem. He’s not a good liar. “Just….” He gestures vaguely at the horizon.

“Watching the sunrise?” Krem slowly provides.

“Yeah!” Taros jumps on the suggestion. “That--exactly, yeah, that’s what I’m doing. Just couldn’t think of it, I guess.” He finds the courage to look back at Krem.

Krem has a raised eyebrow and crossed arms. _Oh no._ “Got a pile of wax next to you that says you’ve been here for a few hours,” Krem says. “And a book.”

Taros tries to squash the instinct that wants to panic because Krem saw the book. He instead huffs and looks away, crossing his arms. “Fine--I was...reading a bit. It’s just about, uh, sword...how to use them. Swords. Technique and stuff.” The battles in the book are abysmal, but Krem doesn’t need to know that.

“‘Sword technique’?” Krem asks. At Taros’s nod, he snickers. “You’re the last person that needs to read a book to improve. And ‘sides--it’s got a rose on the front. What kinda book about swords has a rose on the cover?”

Taros lets out an undignified _hrk_ noise as he rushes to slam his palm on the book to cover it--and, yep, his cheeks are hot. _Fuck. Shit._ He glances up at Krem--he’s been caught red-handed, he knows it. He groans and closes his eyes, dropping his head back against the wall.

He hears Krem snickering quietly and moving closer. “Look,” he says, and the rustling of his clothes tells Taros that he’s sitting next to him now. “I’m not usually sticking my nose in other people’s business, but...I’m good at keeping secrets.”

Taros takes a deep breath. There’s no use in trying to hide it--he hates lying, and he’s no good at it. And Krem gave him an out in case he doesn’t want to answer, but...after the initial shock, Taros finds he doesn’t mind the thought of Krem knowing. They’re...friends. Ish. Close as anyone has come to being a friend since Taros left June, anyway.

“I...like reading,” Taros admits slowly. “Not--not combat technique books. Novels. And stuff.”

“What, that’s it?” Krem asks, a grin in his voice. “Are they dirty?”

“No,” Taros says firmly, frowning at Krem. “Why would you think that?”

“‘Cause why else would you try so hard to hide it?” Krem asks. “It’s just reading, right?”

“Well,” Taros falters. “I shouldn’t be doing it. I’m a warrior, right? I could be doing better things with my time, like--like...sparring, or sharpening my sword, or--”

“Reading technical manuals?” Krem supplies, and snorts at his own joke. “Look, Taros, nobody cares if you’re reading a novel on the side. Long as your arm’s good, your sword’s sharp, and you’re focused, it’s nobody’s business."

Taros gnaws on his lower lip, lifting his knees a little, as he considers the argument. Krem's words make sense, but…. "Nobody else reads," he finally settles on, because he doesn't know how else to describe what's still bothering him about it.

"You serious?" Krem asks. "Seeker Pentaghast reads. _A lot_. You'd see her if we swapped sides for our spars. 'Sides, everyone's got their relaxation methods. Inquisitor cooks, Chief pets cats, the Warden carves. Reading is far from the worst."

Taros digests the words. They make him feel a little better, actually--though he won't be sharing his personal life with anyone else anytime soon. He gives Krem a small smile, then asks, "What about you?"

"Huh?" 

"Your way to relax. What is it?"

Krem gives a lopsided grin. "Early morning walks." He settles back against the parapet, wrapping an arm around a bent knee. "And I draw."

"You draw?" Taros repeats, curiosity burning at him.

Krem snickers. "Look at you perk up," he teases. "Yeah, I draw. That's just for me, though; I'm not trying to show anybody."

Taros nods. "That's fine," he says. "I was just surprised. I figured you'd go more for...something like smithing. Or, uh, leatherworking."

"And I didn't think you'd be a bookworm, but here we are," Krem says. The words don't sting like Taros thinks they should. "Don't judge a book by his cover, huh?"

Taros snorts, and lifts a hand to plop his chin in his palm to try and smother his grin. "Do you always ruin the moment with a pun?"

"You mean improve it?" Krem shrugs. "Only when they come to me."

Taros huffs another laugh at that, but doesn't otherwise respond. They lapse into a comfortable silence for a few moments; Taros takes the time to watch the first sunrays peek over the distant mountains.

“Like the haircut, by the way,” Krem says. “Looks good.” His voice adopts a hint of mischief as he asks, “Don’t suppose anyone _inspired_ it?”

Taros huffs a small laugh. He knows it’s similar to Krem’s own style--he’ll never admit it, but he knows. “Other than the five mugs of mead I downed beforehand?” he asks. “Not anyone that I’m aware of.”

“You did it _drunk_?” Krem asks, and Taros isn’t sure if that’s admiration, concern, or terror in his voice.

Regardless, Taros laughs. “No,” he says. “I was sober. But it _was_ dark.”

Krem snickers and shakes his head. "Didn't take you for a madman. If you needed help with it, you could've asked."

Taros waves off the offer. "I wanted to do it on my own. It hadn't been cut in ten years--didn't need anybody to see me sniffling over that."

"Ten years?" Krem asks. "Andraste's ass, that's a long time. What happened?"

Taros hesitates. He looks up at the sky as he bends his knees against his chest and wraps his arms around them. "I...had just left the alienage," he finally settles on. "For the first time. And I wasn't going back anytime soon, so...why not? It felt right."

Krem hums quietly. After a moment, he asks, "Do it in the dark then, too?"

Taros grins, his posture relaxing a little as he looks at Krem instead. "Which answer would disappoint you less?"

Krem mirrors the grin. "Think they've both got their drawbacks, honestly."

They lapse into another comfortable silence after that. Taros returns his gaze to the horizon; the sky is periwinkle now, and the stars have almost entirely disappeared. The wheel of life at Skyhold will begin spinning again soon. Taros has to admit he doesn't really want it to; he likes being in this moment with Krem, where conversation is natural and not forced.

"What was it like?" Krem asks. Taros looks at him, brow furrowed, and he clarifies. "The alienage. Did you like it?"

Taros gives a derisive snort. He shifts in his seat, drawing his knees up to his chest again as he looks away. "You're curious about _that_?" he asks, if only to stall.

"Curious 'bout _you_ ," Krem counters. "All this time we've been sparring, but you don't really talk about where you come from. You don't have to answer if you don't want."

Taros rubs his palms together as he considers. There's no reason not to at least answer Krem's question. He just has to avoid the painful stuff. He’s gotten good at that--he likes to think, anyway.

"I didn't like it," he slowly says, still not meeting Krem's gaze. "I had J--a friend and my sister, but outside of them, it sucked. It was always cold, there was always _some_ kind of noise, and the humans really couldn’t leave us alone sometimes. I couldn't wait to get out.

"Reading was the only way to really escape it." Taros leans his head back against the stone as he looks up at the lightening sky. "Then I realized that nerds don't really get to leave--people who know how to fight do. So I put down my books, started training, and got out."

"Sounds like we've got similar reasons for learning how to fight, then," Krem murmurs. "Both trapped. What city are you from?"

Taros exhales through his nose. "Denerim."

"No kidding?" Krem asks. "Were you there during the--?"

"The Blight?" Taros finishes, glancing down at Krem. "No. Managed to get out just before the Darkspawn hit the city--but I didn’t avoid much else.”

“What, the Blight wasn’t it?” Krem asks. “Tough luck.”

Taros shakes his head. “Nah,” he says. “Lots of corruption in the years leading up to it, nothing really getting done to solve anything, humans just wanting to dump all their problems into the alienage….” 

“Lots of problems, but nothin’ specific,” Krem comments.

He’s prying. Taros wants to know why he’s curious about _this_ specifically, but...he needs to change the topic more than that. He’s fine with telling Krem the surface-level stuff--that’s more than most people get out of him. But the nitty-gritty? All the pain and anguish? Nah. Nobody needs to know about that. Even Krem.

Taros finally says, “There’s no use talking about it. It’s in the past. All that matters is here, now, and how we’re gonna fuck Corypheus’s shit.”

“Fair enough,” Krem says. “Can’t say I disagree. Just...wanna get to know you. Fighting together and all, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Taros says as he pushes himself to his feet. He turns to offer Krem a hand up, giving him a lopsided grin. “Word of advice, though?”

Krem gives a quiet grunt of acknowledgement as he takes Taros’s hand and pulls himself up.

“I don’t like dwelling,” Taros says as his hand slips from Krem’s. “I’m not my past. You wanna get to know me, get to know who I am _now_.” He picks up his stubbed candle and book. “And I’ll do the same. Deal?”

Krem sizes Taros up for a moment before he nods. “Alright,” he says. “I can live with these conditions.” His lips screw up into a smile. “Grumpy.”

Taros groans. “Don’t let that nickname catch on.”

Krem laughs. “It already has. Tethras’s nicknames are a special kind of accurate.”

“I’m _not_ grumpy,” Taros grumbles. He’d cross his arms if he could--and that thought makes him huff and begin to step away. “I’m kicking your ass later.”

Krem’s laughter follows Taros down the rampart. 

Taros doesn’t realize he’s grinning and nearly _flaunting_ the book in his hand until he almost collides with a nurse rushing past. After that, he tries to sober himself up and be a little more stealthy with the book as he makes his way to his tent--though it’s a struggle.

He hasn’t felt this carefree in years.


	4. Scared

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taros is friends with Krem, and in their line of work, that's stupid.

Another shiver runs down Taros's spine. The near-constant drizzle pelting his head and flattening his hair is maddening to say the least, and the fact that he's in plate armor doesn't help matters at all--not to mention they're just _standing there_.

Well, they're planning. Inquisitor Soros, Iron Bull, and Iron Bull's Qunari contact, Gatt, have been in a small group, heads together, for a while now. They're under a small tarp--Gatt has been here for a few days, and has had time to set up a basic camp. Taros can't tell how the planning is going; he heard some raised voices earlier, but since Azhdeha pulled Dorian to the side, it's quieted down--even though Dorian looks even more miserable now that he's soaked.

Taros wishes he was under the tarp. He can't help but eye it with envy, arms crossed tightly over his chest, as he impatiently waits for this show to get on the road.

He forces his gaze away in an effort to try and distract himself. Focusing on the icy drops smacking into his head is just making him feel colder. His eyes end up landing on Krem, standing with the other Chargers, an easy grin on his face--even despite the rain. Maybe he likes it. _Bastard._

Taros is glad Krem is there. Okay, he's glad _all_ the Chargers are there, but especially Krem. Since learning Taros's secret, Krem has been fantastic; they still spar, but they've started just...spending time together, too--sharing drinks and stories in the Rest, sitting on the ramparts just before dawn (Taros still hasn't found a better place to read), trading quiet opinions about anyone and everyone in Skyhold. Krem asks Taros to describe whatever he's reading in such detail that, honestly, Taros should just lend him the books. Maybe after this mission, he'll suggest that.

Needless to say, Krem's presence is...anchoring. Taros still misses June with all his heart--nobody can change that--but...Taros can tell he's opening up more, smiling more, joking more. The worst part is that he thinks he likes it.

Taros is tempted to keep watching Krem laugh with the Chargers, but his gaze slides back to the tarp. As much as he hates to admit it, he thinks he'd rather be back at Skyhold. At least there's shelter there, and it barely ever actually snows. The rain in the Storm Coast is constant, freezing, and annoying as shit.

"You could go stand under it if you wanted."

Taros turns his gaze to Krem (now grinning at his side), lifting his brows. "And be forced to sit there, listening to them brainstorm?" he asks, wrinkling his nose. "I'd rather freeze."

Krem shakes his head as he snickers. "Dislike planning that much, do you?"

Taros shrugs a shoulder. "I like planning just fine," he says. "I hate _brainstorming_. I just go with the first plan I think of, usually."

"How's that work out for you?" Krem asks, a playful grin teasing his mouth.

"I dunno. Am I dead yet?" Taros looks down at himself, as if unsure.

"Gettin' there, judging by the way you're shivering," Krem answers. "We should be getting a move on soon."

"Thank fuck," Taros grumbles. "The sooner I'm dry, the better."

"Aw, don't be so sour, Grumpy," Krem grins. "Could be worse, huh?"

"How?" Taros asks. "It's windy, cold, and rainy."

Krem sweeps his gaze along the coast. "Vints could have a dragon."

Taros barks out a startled laugh. "I wouldn't discount it," he says, a half-grin on his face. "Remember Haven? Wasn't expecting a dragon then, either."

"Where would they hide it, though?" Krem asks.

"I'm sure their heads are big enough to make do," Taros answers, his grin widening.

Krem laughs at that. "Got me there," he says. "Then let's hope for the best, but prepare for the worst."

"Couldn't agree more," Taros says. He catches movement out of the corner of his eye, so he looks up to see Iron Bull walking over to the rest of the Chargers while Soros steps over to Dorian and Azhdeha.

"Looks like we're getting this show on the road," Taros says as he looks back at Krem. "Let's hope all that sparring pays off, huh?"

"It's been paying off," Krem says. He turns to the side and lifts his fist in the air. "Wouldn't be doing it otherwise."

"Aw, don't enjoy my company?" Taros asks, lifting his own fist to bump against the side of Krem's.

"Hey, never said I'd stop talking to you," Krem says, grinning back. He starts to walk towards the Chargers as he says, "Good luck."

Taros nods at Krem as he turns to walk over to Soros. Another shiver passes along his spine on the way.

 

* * *

 

By the time the Venatori camp is clear, Taros is covered in splattered blood. He lifts a wrist to wipe away some blood on his forehead, then sighs when the wet metal just smears it around.

"Fuck this place," he grumbles as he slings his sword on his back again. He picks his way carefully over the Venatori corpses, until he's on the edge of the cliff and can overlook the bay.

"The constant drizzle, chill, and wild dogs don't do it for you?" Dorian asks, stepping up to overlook the bay as well. "I'm shocked."

Taros glances at Dorian, then takes a small step away from him. "What's _that_ supposed to mean?"

"It was simply a bit of sarcasm," Dorian answers, turning his head to look at Taros. "Of _course_ nobody likes this place--that's all I meant."

Taros frowns at Dorian for a moment more before he looks away with a small grunt of acknowledgment. Since meeting Dorian, he hasn't really trusted him, but...he seems as ready as anyone to follow Soros's commands, despite being both Tevene and the son of a magister. 

The smell of smoke drifts on the wind; Soros has signalled the nearby dreadnought, and it's moving into place. He registers a discussion behind him between Soros and Iron Bull, but he ignores it as the dreadnought fires its first few shots.

Taros catches movement on the beach, and he slides his gaze down to see a large Venatori force heading--for Krem's camp. Taros's eyes widen as another shiver runs down his spine, this time having less to do with the chill. There's way too many Venatori for the Chargers to handle on their own, despite how skilled they may be. Taros lifts his gaze to look at the camp; he sees Krem standing in the front, maul in hand as he shouts back at the other Chargers. He's going to stand his ground.

They won't make it.

"Soros," Taros says, gaze riveted on the opposite camp. "Chargers are about to get some trouble."

"What kind of trouble?" Soros asks, moving closer to Taros.

Taros doesn't bother to answer, because Soros's sharp intake of breath--mirrored by Iron Bull's--is all the confirmation he needs. There's a discussion, but Taros can't hear it past his heartbeat in his ears.

He has to help. He can't stand by and do nothing. Maybe they'll be able to pull through with him? If he comes up behind the Vints, takes some of them by surprise, he might be able to do it.

Or he might get killed, too. Taros frowns at the thought, but his throat closes with fear at the idea of doing nothing, of just standing by and letting Krem get slaughtered. He takes a small step forward, and some loose gravel under his boots gives way, pitching Taros forward.

He'd fall down the cliff if not for a firm grip on his upper arm. He takes a few steps back and looks over his shoulder to see who stopped him--Azhdeha. He has a worried frown and a crease between his brows as he looks carefully at Taros.

“They’ll be fine,” Azhdeha murmurs. 

He adds something else, but his voice is drowned out by a horn suddenly blaring; Taros jumps and looks at the source--Iron Bull. Once he pulls the horn away from his lips, his gaze is riveted on the distance, brow furrowed. “They’re falling back,” he says.

Taros looks, too; the Chargers are retreating. The tension unravels from his shoulders. He knows he’s watching Krem more intently than the others, but frankly, it’s worth it to make _sure_ the Vints don’t touch him.

At least, that’s the plan. Taros’s attention is stolen by Gatt shouting behind him. “All these years, Hissrad, and you throw away all that you are. For what? For this?” He jabs an accusing finger at Soros. “For _them_?”

Soros’s lip curls in a snarl. “His name is Iron Bull,” he spits.

Gatt looks like he wants to trade blows, but he pulls back and lifts his chin, anger visibly melting away. He regards Iron Bull for a moment before he says, bitterness sour in his voice, “I suppose it is.” He storms from the gathering, shoulder brushing against Soros’s lightly.

Taros watches him leave, gaze narrowed, before a clamor on the beach draws his attention. The Venatori are gathering flames in their hands, shooting great balls of fire at the dreadnought. They hit their target dead-on; it’s much too large a ship to actually outmaneuver the magic.

“No way they’ll get out of range,” Iron Bull says, voice strangely detached. “Won’t be long now.”

“Bull,” Soros begins, hesitant. “When the dreadnought sinks….”

“Sinks?” Iron Bull repeats, voice incredulous. “Qunari dreadnoughts don’t _sink_.”

Almost on cue, a loud explosion blasts from the bay. It’s the dreadnought, sinking and flaming. That was quick. Taros frowns as he watches the ship; he’s almost disappointed that they failed in their goal, but he doesn’t have the heart to be. Not when that goal would’ve cost him Krem. Er, cost the Inquisition the Chargers. There’s nothing personal there.

Iron Bull gives a ragged sigh. “Come on,” he murmurs. “Let’s get back to my boys.”

Taros can’t deny that he wants to get away from this beach, especially if it means confirming that Krem is totally fine with his own eyes. He’s still feeling the aftereffects of his fear; he wants to wipe his clammy palms somewhere, wants to grab something just so he can ground himself. What the hell has gotten into him?

Taros’s thoughts and his proximity to the cliff both ensure that he lags at the back of the party. He’s content to stay there, worrying over what’s going through his head, but someone says softly next to him, “Taros.”

It’s Azhdeha. Again. Taros would be annoyed if he didn’t actually like the guy. “Yeah?”

“Are you...feeling alright?” Azhdeha asks.

“Fine,” Taros says as he turns his gaze to the rest of the party ahead of them. “Why?”

“You just seemed unusually distressed back there,” Azhdeha replies. “You’re normally so levelheaded, but you looked like you were ready to leap down the cliff.” He gives a soft huff that might just be a puff of air or might be a laugh. “You almost _did_.”

“Well,” Taros says. “It’s--it was a tense situation.” _Don’t mention Krem._ “I just figured, you know.” _Don’t mention Krem._ “If Iron Bull didn’t end up calling the retreat, I’d go--help.” _Don’t mention Krem._ “Give ‘em a fighting chance.” He doesn’t know why he’s shouting at himself to avoid mentioning Krem specifically; he just knows that he is.

Azhdeha gives a small hum of thought before he nods. “If you say so,” he says. “Though I’m glad it didn’t come to that.”

“Me too,” Taros says too quickly for his liking. He shuts his mouth before he says anything _else_ incriminating, which leads to them falling into a short silence.

Taros just wants to get back to Skyhold, he thinks as he reaches up to rub soaked hair from his forehead. He’s pretty sure the storm is picking up, if that’s even possible for the Storm Coast--he swallows the urge to curse as another shiver runs down his spine--and he has more to think about than he wants.

Taros’s worries flee from his mind once his gaze lands on Krem, safe but somber. There’s a new scratch on his cheek, the blood from it streaking down his jaw thanks to the rain, but he looks otherwise unhurt. He’s already trading soft-voiced comments with Iron Bull by the time Taros and Azhdeha approach.

Krem gives Iron Bull a soft smile and a nudge on the arm. Taros isn’t sure what they’re talking about, but he hopes Krem is making Iron Bull feel better about this mess. He can’t imagine the big guy sad is bearable at all. 

Taros feels a jolt when Krem looks over and meets his gaze. He almost looks away, until he catches Krem’s smile growing to a toothy grin and an upwards head-jerk of hello.

Taros mirrors the grin and head-jerk with ones of his own. He pulls his attention away, though, when Azhdeha says, “I’m going to make sure Soros is alright.” He frowns slightly at Taros. “If you have anything you need to talk about, Taros, I would be more than happy to listen.”

Taros blinks at the offer. “Uh--thanks,” he says. “Can’t say I’ll be taking you up on that anytime soon, but….”

“I just wanted to make sure you know,” Azhdeha says. He gives Taros a small and brief smile before he steps away.

Taros watches him for a moment before he brings his gaze back up to look at Krem again. He’s caught red-handed, though, because Krem is already sauntering towards him with a grin on his face.

“Thank the Maker for those sparring lessons, huh?” Krem asks once he’s close enough. He holds up his hand in a loosely-curled fist.

Taros huffs a little, returning the grin with a soft smile of his own as he bumps his own fist against Krem’s. “Looks like we’ll have to keep at ‘em,” he says, then reaches up to tickle his own cheek. “You got nicked.”

Krem snorts, dropping his fist. “Could’ve been a lot worse,” he says. “But like I said. No dragon.”

“No dragon,” Taros agrees. He feels his smile dim, and he can’t stop himself before he slips out, “I’m glad you’re okay.”

Krem’s own grin softens. “Same here,” he says. The look in his eyes tells Taros he isn’t talking about himself--or maybe it’s wishful thinking. Or just _delusion_ , because what would Taros be _wishing_ for--

Taros is grateful for Soros’s clear voice calling at that moment, so he can stop risking making himself blush. “Inquisition. We’re leaving.”

Taros and Krem trade another small grin before they turn to follow the order. They walk in silence, and Taros’s mind strays inevitably to the day’s events.

He can only hope he won’t have cause to feel that afraid again.


	5. Reunited

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taros suspects that joining the Inquisition was a good call, but he finally confirms it.

Taros breaks off from Krem, taking a few steps back to flick his sweat-drenched hair out of his face. He has an unconscious grin on his face, but that's usually the case whenever Krem is around since the Qunari dreadnought scare a few months ago.

"Getting tired already?" Krem pants, a grin on his face too. Sweat is running down his bare arms and soaking his own hair, but it's a much more manageable length than Taros's.

"Definitely not," Taros replies. "But if you need a break--"

"I can keep going _all_ day," Krem interrupts, his grin adopting a razor-sharp edge. It makes something in Taros's gut warm.

Taros doesn't stop to analyze as he nods. "As you wish." He rushes forward, bringing his sword down, hopefully on top of Krem.

It's an easy blow to block, and Krem does it. He steps to the side and slides his sword's wooden edge along Taros's. Taros huffs and presses harder into the stalemate, grin widening.

"This your idea of a break?" Taros teases. "If you needed one--"

"I thought I'd be nice and give _you_ one," Krem snickers. "Isn't fun fighting a half-gone opponent, you know."

"Oh, sure, use _me_ as an excuse," Taros laughs as he skips back, breaking the hold again. He stands back for a moment, recollecting both his wits and his breath as he strategizes.

Once his gaze lands on someone a ways behind Krem, however, both his wits and his breath leave him. He's wide-eyed and slackjawed, he knows, but...that's June. _June_. He lowers his sword to the ground, trying to process.

There's no mistaking it. Taros knows that straight nose, that mahogany hair. The last time Taros saw him, he was a skinny little twig--he's filled out now. Taros can't see his eyes at this angle, but he wants to. He wishes June would just turn _around_.

Why is he here? June has never really been a fighter, so he can't be here to join. And he's not of noble birth--maybe he's here with someone? He _is_ standing near a group of humans, but not one of them is paying any attention to him.

Krem's gaze blocks June, and it's then that Taros realizes he's been trying to get his attention. Once Taros is looking at him instead, Krem gives a lopsided grin and says, "I didn't think I'd have to work so hard to keep your attention."

Taros already feels guilty, but he can't even give a laugh or a response: he's too shell-shocked. He stutters out as quick as he can, "Sorry--we can finish this later. I have to--" He hasn't even finished before he's moving, dropping his sword as he sprints towards June.

June starts to move in the opposite direction, and that's enough to get Taros to give a strangled shout. " _June_!" His voice bounces against the walls of the hold, but he doesn't care, because it gets June to stop and turn around.

June furrows his brow at first, but then his face breaks into the biggest smile Taros has seen. At that point, Taros is flat-out sprinting; he doesn't care how he looks, he just needs to get to June _now_. June seems to feel similarly, because he's started running towards Taros.

They collide painfully, but Taros doesn't care as he finally wraps his arms around June. They stumble together at the force of the impact before they just fall to the ground, arms still tightly wound around each other.

They both giggle at that. Taros can feel June's tears soaking his shoulder, but a few tears have escaped him, too, so he can't tease. Not that he would--he's absolutely content with just holding June for the moment.

They sit there for what must be a few minutes, unmoving and speechless. Taros knows they should both be talking a mile a minute, but he also knows that he missed June's simple presence above all--so he's intent on just relishing in it for as long as possible. He's warm, and he smells like...plants, and earth, and rain.

Finally, though, June speaks. "Why are you so _sweaty_?!" he asks, laughing into Taros's shoulder before he pulls his head away, bright smile still on his face. "And your hair!" He lifts his hands to place his palms on either side of Taros's face, turning his head this way and that to investigate. "It's so dark now! And short! And your eyes! Green?" He meets Taros's gaze straight-on. "Trying to steal my look?"

"You're one to talk," Taros laughs. His cheeks ache with his grin as he wraps a hand around June's bicep and squeezes. "What's all this, huh?"

June laughs, batting his hand away. "Stop," he says. "You come back to life and the first thing you do is _tease_ me? For shame, Tea!"

Taros laughs again, but before he can properly respond, an amused voice says from above them, "You two might want to find somewhere more private for this."

Taros looks up, and curses the hot flush that comes to his face when he sees Krem. "Krem," he says. "Did you see all that?" He slowly pulls away from June.

Krem snorts, grinning. "Me and half the hold," he says. "Don't worry. The nobles are eating it up."

Taros gives a disgusted grunt as he stands. "Don't make me think about it." He extends a hand to pull June up as well.

June pulls himself up fluidly, gaze fixed on Krem. Taros _knows_ June is gonna initiate conversation, but before he has a chance, Krem says, "I'll leave you both to it, then," and walks off towards the inn.

Taros only watches him leave for a _second_ , but it's more than enough for June. "So who was that?" June asks, a knowing grin on his face.

Taros groans as he starts to lead June towards the ramparts. "Nobody."

"But you were--"

June cuts himself off when a human man steps in front of their path. He's a few inches taller than Taros, but Taros lifts his chin stubbornly anyway as he meets the man's gaze.

"Where do you think you're taking my servant?" the human asks, looking down at Taros with a thinly-veiled sneer.

"Your servant?" Taros echoes. He steps in front of June as he frowns mightily up at the human. "He's not _your_ anything. June is his own man."

"On the contrary," the human says as he lifts his chin. "He signed a contract dedicating his time to me. As such, he is my property, and I will _not_ allow him to--"

"How are you gonna stop us?" Taros growls, glowering at the human.

"I--Pardon me?"

"I _said_ ," Taros steps closer with every word, "how are you gonna stop us, fucker?" By the time he's finished, he's standing chest-to-chest with the man.

Taros thinks he sees a flicker of fear in the human's gaze as his throat bobs. "You--you can't touch me," he says. "Your Inquisition needs the connections. You--"

Taros winds his fist back and lets it fly. He rarely has patience for pompous human nobles, and at the moment, he has even less than usual.

Unsurprisingly, the noble isn't expecting the blow--though he damn well should've. It's enough to throw his face to the side as he spins and falls to the ground, groaning.

"Eat shit," Taros hisses down at the human. He grabs June by the hand and quickly tugs him over to the ramparts, not wanting to give the noble a chance to recollect himself.

June is silent for a long few moments--probably shocked. Finally, once they're starting to ascend the ramp, he says, "T-Tea! Did you really just--"

"Yes," Taros grumbles. "Who was that, June?"

"Well--my boss, duh," June says. "I can't believe you just…."

"Something tells me he's had it coming for a while now," Taros replies. He glances at June over his shoulder. "Right?"

June takes a second to respond, a small frown growing on his face. "...Yeah," he finally says, then grins up at Taros. "He really has." He adopts his frown again, though, then adds, "Aren't you gonna get in trouble? He's been known to blow up." He squeezes Taros's hand.

"Nah," Taros says. He releases June's hand once they reach the top of the rampart, then turns to face June. "I'll be able to talk Josephine down once she realizes how scummy the guy is." June gives an unconvinced squint of his eyes, but Taros interrupts any possible discussion by saying, "You first."

"Huh?"

"You explain what's gone on first," Taros says. "The sooner I know what's going on with Lord Dick-for-Brains, the sooner we can figure out a plan to get you away."

June snorts. "Okay. I can't say I'm really against that. Um…." He looks up at the sky as he tries to recall. "I left the alienage a few months after the Blight ended, with--do you remember Pala and Artael?"

Taros nods, and June continues. "With them. And we sort of just...wandered through the Bannorn until we came across Bann Hester there." He nods back in the general direction of Lord Dick-for-Brains. "He hired us as servants. I'm a gardener, Pala became an apprentice to one of the chefs, and Artael became a maid."

Taros huffs. "I can't imagine he liked that."

June shakes his head. "Nah. He left after about a year."

"He left you? What about Pala?" Taros asks with a frown.

June shrugs a shoulder. "She lasted a bit longer--maybe three or four years before she left, too."

Taros's frown grows at that. "They both left you alone with him? Why did you stay?"

June waves a hand. "I'm the favorite, so he isn't as…." He grimaces. "You know, as _eesh_ to me as he is to everyone else. And I…I dunno. I like gardening. It's nice." 

Taros nods, crossing his arms as he considers. If the goal is to just get June away from his bann, then that'll be easy; Josephine can figure out ways to dissolve contracts with a wave of her hand. And if she won't, then Taros doesn't mind taking things into his own hands.

The problem is...what will June do afterwards? Taros doesn't want to just ruin his source of income and say the problem is solved. He looks over at the trees lining the base of Skyhold, chewing on his lip. A gardener, huh?

Taros grins as he looks back at June. "Join the Inquisition."

June snorts. "You know better than anyone that I'm not really a fighter."

"I didn't say you were. But look at this place!" He sweeps an arm out to gesture to the interior of the hold. "They need gardeners, I bet. And I bet you'd be the best they hire." His grin widens. "And we'll be able to see each other almost every day, _and_ you won't have to work for Lord Dick-for-Brains anymore."

June gives a soft laugh. "Hester."

"Whatever," Taros says. "If he isn't gonna treat you like a fully-fledged person, why should I call him anything but Dick-for-Brains?" He frowns. "You're avoiding the question."

"I'm _thinking_ ," June corrects. He looks hesitant, so Taros feels himself deflate a little. “I really appreciate the offer, Tea, but….” His frown grows. “I just….”

“What is it?” Taros asks. “If it’s the contract, then don’t worry about it. We can figure out a way around it.”

“It’s not that,” June sighs, then looks down. “I’m just not sure how--you know, _useful_ I’ll be. I mean...you’ve already got your own gardeners, right? I don’t wanna feel like I’m taking advantage.”

Taros frowns as well. “You wouldn’t be,” he says. “You could probably run circles around the other landscapers. And you’d really let that stop you from getting away from Dick-for-Brains?”

June grimaces and looks back down at the courtyard. “Well….” He falls into silence again.

Taros sighs, then reaches up to squeeze June’s shoulders. “Okay,” he says. “It’s a big decision. So you can take all the time you need before you make it. I can give you a tour, show you the official garden, introduce you to the others. And then you’ll see that it’s a great choice, and you’ll be frothing at the mouth to take it.” He bends down a little to give June a soft smile. “Okay?”

June meets his gaze for a few moments before he mirrors the smile. “Okay.” His smile grows into a grin. “Will one of the people you introduce me to be that guy?”

Taros groans, dropping his hands and stepping away from June. “You’re a _menace_.”

June laughs. “I’m curious!” he corrects. “Not just anyone can make Taros Alaven blush like that.”

Taros shakes his head, beating off the blush. “Stop implying that,” he says. “Krem and I are friends. We’re sparring buddies. There’s nothing deeper than that.”

“His name is Krem?” June asks, a cheshire grin on his face. “Tea and Krempets.”

That’s enough to get Taros to redden a little. “You’re fucking awful, and so are your puns.”

June laughs. “Stop! I was proud of that one!”

“Please leave.”

June snickers. “Who else will get you to realize you’re drowning in denial?”

“I’m not in denial,” Taros defends, crossing his arms. “Just--we’re just friends. Okay?”

“Mmm,” June hums, an unconvinced grin on his face. “We’ll see about that. But for now--you tell me what _you’ve_ been up to. How did you get into the Inquisition?”

Taros shrugs. “After I escaped from the slavers, I just sort of...travelled. Needed money, so I started doing, uh, odd jobs. Mercenary work, bodyguarding, escorting, that kind of thing.”

“You were an _escort_?” June gasps.

“No--not like that,” Taros amends. “Like...walking people between towns. That kind of escorting.”

“Okay,” June says. “So...what, did the Inquisition hire you?”

Taros shakes his head. “I was supposed to be guarding somebody in the Temple of Sacred Ashes,” he says. “Before I got there, though, it...exploded. I got caught in the blast. I was close enough to be injured, but not close enough to be killed, or to know what was going on.” He tugs at a lock of his hair. “That’s why things are changing.”

“Cool,” June breathes. “You look good, by the way. It’s a wonder how Krem isn’t swooning at your feet.”

“Stop.”

“Okay, okay,” June snickers. “Keep going.”

Taros nods. “They, uh, found me in a mountain pass on their way to the Temple--the Inquisitor, Cassandra, Solas, and Varric. They took me back to Haven with them, patched me up, and...well, I wanted to repay the favor. They saved my life, you know?”

“So you joined up,” June finishes for him, and Taros nods. June grins. “I’m really grateful to the Inquisition too, then. How are you handling the cold?”

Taros groans. “It fucking _sucks_. I swear I need about fifty blankets just to keep warm at night.”

“Poor Tea,” June coos with a pout. “If only you had a hot guy with musclebound arms to cuddle you at night.”

“I’m going to throw you off this rampart,” Taros threatens, though he can’t keep the grin off his face.

“You wouldn’t dare,” June claims.

“I wouldn’t,” Taros concedes. “But you bet your ass that I’m gonna tease you twice this hard if _you_ ever blush around anyone.”

“If I do, I won’t need your teasing to act on it,” June says with a grin and a wink. “What about that tour, though? Can we do it now?”

Taros nods. “Sure,” he says. “I don’t have anything else planned. We can start with the training yard.”

“Yes please,” June says. “Lead the way, Tea.”

As Taros leads June down the ramp and to the training yard, he swears he’s walking on air. His chest is made of clouds, and he can’t keep the grin off his face.

For once, it feels like all is right with the world.


	6. Sick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taros is sick, and June is a menace.

Taros feels like he has a hive of bees in his lungs with every breath. The bees sting the back of his throat and rub it raw, skitter under his skin and make him shiver, and make every breath raspy and painful. He pulls his blanket tighter around himself as he squeezes his eyes shut; they ache against the dim light in the tent. The only light coming through is a crack of sunlight from the flap, but it's enough to hurt.

He tries to burrow his way deeper in his blanket before a hoarse cough claws its way out of his throat. He can't tell how long he's been awake or in his cot; at the moment, he's content to let his limbs ache in peace without aggravating them further. He's lucky that he sleeps with the army proper, he thinks, because nobody really comes down from the hold just to visit, so he's safe from any prying eyes from any friends. He isn't interested in anyone seeing him with snot and tears running down his face.

Especially Krem. The thought comes unbidden, but Taros blames June. It's been a few months since he joined the Inquisition, and he's been a _relentless_ wingman. In that time, he's managed to get Taros to admit that yes, alright, he might have some feelings deeper than friendship for Krem--but he's not going to act on them. No reason for all that; they're fine as friends. Besides, Krem hasn’t hinted to _wanting_ anything other than friendship.

"Morning, sleepyhead," June's voice drifts through the tent.

Taros groans and deflates. Of course June would come looking for him. Why did Taros expect any different? That's his best friend, after all.

"Are you sick?" June asks, closer to Taros now. "Let me feel."

Taros gives a nonverbal _nu-uh_ as he burrows deeper into his blanket, trying to hide every bit of skin from the air.

"Okay," June says, voice teasing. "Guess I just have to find you."

Taros knows it's a bait to try and get him to expose himself so that June doesn't have to sneak his hand in between all the blankets, but he doesn't move regardless. He's comfortable, it’s freezing out, and honestly, June's threat isn't a good one. 

Still, he doesn’t want June’s icy hands anywhere near him, so he grumbles, “You _know_ I’m sick.”

"You're right," June says. "I just wanted to see how sick you are."

"What's the verdict?" Taros asks.

"Dismal," June deadpans. "There's little hope for you. I can go get Krem, so you can say your goodbyes."

Taros coughs. "If you let Krem anywhere near me while I'm like this, I'll kick your fucking ass."

"You won't," June asserts. "You'd be too busy thanking me for bringing you both together in your time of need."

Taros gives a groan, which is cut short by a cough. "Menace," he wheezes past the bee lodged in his throat.

"All jokes aside," June says, a bead of concern in his voice, "you don't sound great, Tea. Have any of the nurses seen you?"

"No."

"How long have you been like this?" June asks. Taros feels an extra blanket being thrown over him.

"Uh…." Taros sighs, then wrinkles his nose as his brain beats at his skull. He can't think about that. "Dunno. Been a blur. When'd we last talk?"

June sighs. "Two days ago. You're useless when you're sick."

Taros gives a groan as he burrows into the cot, not bothering to respond otherwise.

"Alright," June says. "I assume you haven't eaten since you got sick, so I'm gonna go find you something warm to eat."

Taros's stomach flips. "Dunno 'bout that one, June," he grumbles.

"You can't just not eat," June says. "It'll be something simple--don't worry about it."

"If I puke on you, blame yourself," Taros warns, lowering his blanket so he can peer with squinted eyes at June.

"You won't puke," June reassures. "I'll be back soon."

Taros gives only a groan of acknowledgement before he slips his head under his blanket again, already halfway to sleep.

 

* * *

 

"Uh...Taros?"

Taros gives a quiet grumble as he slowly stirs from his slumber. He isn't sure what he's trying to say, but it gets the point across.

"June asked me to give you this food. Something 'bout being sick…?"

Taros takes a few extra moments to process the words. He mutters, "You asked yourself to…?" He trails off, then realizes with a jolt that that's not June's voice.

He launches up to a seated position, wincing before his gaze registers who his visitor is. "K-Kre--" He's interrupted by an angry swarm of bees ramming against his throat, making him cough into his elbow. "--em."

"Hey hey hey," Krem says, putting the bowl he has down so he can gently try and push Taros back into bed. "What's the rush? It's just me."

 _Just me._ Taros nearly laughs at that, but he manages to hold back. Krem's hand is warm, and Taros only barely manages not to lean into it. He stays sitting up, though he hunches his shoulders a little so he can hide his eyes (watering, thanks to the coughing fit he’s recovering from). "I told June not to send you."

"Suddenly not a fan of my company?" Krem asks.

"Suddenly not wanting to get you sick," Taros corrects. "'N' how can I intimidate you during our spars _now_?"

Krem laughs. "You haven't done that in a while, I’m sad to say."

Taros deflates. "Oh, my pride," he groans.

"Shut up," Krem snickers. "It's a good thing." He nudges Taros's shoulder a little. "Now have some food. June said I had to watch you have at least _one_ spoonful."

Taros sighs and lifts his face to look at Krem. He's glad it's dark, or he'd definitely just stare; Krem looks great in low light. Taros warns, "I'm nauseous." A shiver runs through him, as if to prove his point, and he pulls his blankets higher.

"I'm shocked," Krem says, a smile hinting on his lips. He moves the bowl--full of broth--closer to Taros. "Here."

Taros takes the bowl carefully. "Who made it?" he asks.

"The Inquisitor himself," Krem says. "Spices 'n' all. Go on, try it."

Taros snorts, grinning at Krem. "Bullshit."

"I'm offended on his behalf," Krem says, though he mirrors Taros's grin. "He makes a mean bowl of broth, you know."

"I know," Taros says. "But he's got better things to do than--" He wanted to get his sentence out, but the bees in his chest have other plans. They constrict his throat and make his eyes water; he turns his head from Krem to cough into his elbow, shoulders shaking with the effort.

Once he's calmed down, Krem says, "You should eat some of this soup before you dump it in your lap."

Taros realizes then that the only reason he _hadn't_ dumped it in his lap is because Krem is holding the bowl with him, warm fingertips next to Taros's icy ones.

Taros is glad he can excuse the flush on his face with his cold. "You're right," he croaks, his throat feeling like sandpaper.

"Just say the word if you want me to feed you," Krem adds, a disarming grin on his face.

Taros huffs and tries to pretend his face doesn't warm further at that. "I can handle it," he says, pulling the bowl from Krem and taking the spoon in his free hand. "...but thanks."

"'Swhat I'm here for," Krem says. He turns around and sits next to Taros's cot, leaning his back against it.

Taros frowns down at the broth in his lap. He takes a small spoonful, and watches the spices float in the amber liquid. The bowl is warming his fingertips, which sends another shiver across his skin. His stomach wiggles. He can only hope the movement is due to hunger.

Taros quickly swallows down the soup, not willing to prolong the scene. The warmth runs down his throat and curls in his gut, and his stomach gurgles. Loudly. He gives it a dirty glare.

Krem rolls his head back onto Taros's cot, lifting a brow at him. "Was that a hungry growl or a vomit growl?"

"I--" Taros frowns down at his stomach again. "...Dunno." He waits a few moments, then ventures, "...Hunger?"

Krem gives a quiet puff of air. "Right, well--if you feel the urge to puke, look away from me, yeah?"

Taros nods. "'Course." He swallows a few more careful spoonfuls--he can't taste the soup, but he can tell it's warm--before he says, "You can go. If you want."

"Why would I want that?" Krem asks, resting his head back on the cot again to give Taros a grin. "It's warm, and there's good company."

"Well--just, you know. If you--" He stops and tries to will away the tickling of his nose. He's unsuccessful, though, and he sneezes to the side. He wants to kick himself as he wipes snot on his sleeve. "Ugh. If you're busy."

"Can't think of anything else I should be doing," Krem says. "Why are you trying so hard to get rid of me?"

Taros uses the pretense of eating more soup to avoid answering. "Don't want you to get sick," he finally says.

"Bullshit," Krem says easily. "I'm practically on top of you. Where's the nobility in _that_ , huh?"

Taros nearly chokes on his spoon. He takes a moment to cough, then says, voice rough, "You _aren't_. You're--a safe distance away, and, you know, we're not touching. So you're safe."

Krem hums. "Still don't buy it."

Taros huffs and lowers his half-full bowl to his lap, trying to ignore another shiver. "Why's it so hard to believe I don't wanna get you sick?"

"I believe it," Krem says. "That's just not why you're trying to get me to leave."

Taros considers for a moment. Krem is right, of course, but it's frustrating that he can see so easily through Taros. Not to mention that Taros is trying to convince himself that they're just friends and will always be just friends, and the fact that Krem has this magic ability to get Taros to want to say everything on his mind is just making matters harder.

Taros gives a long sigh. "It's--" He stops to cough into his elbow, to put off the confession. "--just. You know. Embarrassing."

"Getting sick?" Krem asks, dark gaze watching Taros closely.

Taros nods, focused on his soup. "And it fucking _sucks_. You know how I am about the cold." A tremor runs through his shoulders, and he hunches over a little more. "This is like that, but a thousand times worse 'cause blankets don't help at _all_."

Confusingly, Krem's lips seem to soften into a small smile. "Like I haven't seen you in worse situations."

Taros furrows his brow, looking at Krem. "You haven't."

Krem shrugs a shoulder and rests his arms on his knees. "Depends on what you think embarrassing is. To me, being sick's nothing to get upset about. Just happens. To everyone, too. I think that time you slipped at the stables was a _lot_ more embarrassing."

Taros's blush rages full-force. "You said you wouldn’t bring it up again."

Krem laughs. "Aw, c'mon. You're moping. I can't have that, can I?"

"I'm not--" Taros tries to defend, but a sudden cough forces him to end the sentiment there. He manages to squeeze out, "--so you brought up _that_?"

Krem snickers. "Was either that or the bar incident," he says. "Figured I'd be a _little_ generous. Least the stables wasn't your fault."

"The bar incident wasn't my fault either," Taros says. "It was an honest mistake. If you're drunk and out of it, your eyesight goes. You would've done it, too."

Krem laughs. "Confuse the Chief's arm for a pint? I _know_ I wouldn't."

"Bullshit," Taros says, unable to force down his grin. "You've done it before."

"Yeah? When?"

"You just don't remember," Taros says. "But I do. Trust me."

Krem snorts. "You dreamed it."

"Did not. Just ask Bull. He knows."

Krem drops his head, hiding his bright smile. "Eat your broth before it gets cold."

Taros wants to keep going, but he knows he should eat. He lets Krem win for the time being, spooning soup into his mouth.

They sit in silence until Taros finishes the bowl. It's not uncomfortable--even if Taros didn't want Krem to see him initially, he still enjoys Krem's company. It's comforting.

Once Taros empties the bowl, he sets it on the bed next to Krem's head. "Happy now, soup-guard? I finished."

"Soup-guard?" Krem repeats, grinning up at Taros. "I like the sound of that."

"You shouldn't," Taros says. "It's an awful job."

"I dunno," Krem says. "If all my charges are as good-looking as you, it won't be so bad."

"I don't think you'd be so lucky," Taros says before his brain can catch up. He blinks, then says, cheeks warm, "Wait--"

Krem laughs. "Was wondering when it'd register." He stands and takes the bowl, lips curved in a half-smile. 

"You're leaving?" Taros asks. "You can't just--" He stops, then presses the heel of his palm to his mouth to try and force back the blush. There’s no way he can blame it on his cold--it feels way too warm. "...Thanks."

Krem snickers a little. "Don't worry," he says. "I'm sure June'll send me down tomorrow with another excuse to look after you." He winks at Taros. "Not that he'll need one."

 _Why is he doing this to me._ Taros nods and diverts his gaze. "Then I'll see you tomorrow. 'N' if you're sick, blame yourself. Or June."

"I'm sure it won't come to that," Krem says as he walks to the entrance of the tent. "Rest up, Taros."

"You too, Krem," Taros says before Krem disappears beyond the tent flap.

It takes a long time for the blush to go away. Taros has no idea what that was--Krem hasn't boldly _flirted_ before. That's what that was, right? Flirting? It had to have been. Or maybe they're at the level where they can start platonically flirting?

Oh, _no_. Taros wouldn't be able to handle that. Well, he could, but he'd be a mess every day. What's changed, though? Why now?

Maybe June said something to Krem. Taros knows he wouldn't have, but...what other explanation is there? Taros toys with the idea that maybe Krem organically developed feelings for him in return, but he dismisses the thought. The timing is too convenient. Isn't it?

Taros burrows under his covers with the thoughts. He resolves to bring it up to June, but that's the last thing he can consider before drowsiness drags him under again.


	7. Dancer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Halamshiral has many great things to offer a certain crowd, but Taros finds that he enjoys Skyhold's assets much more.

Taros didn't want to go to the Winter Palace. He doesn't give a shit about Orlesian politics, and he didn't want to dress up in any stupid-stuffy costumes just to have stupid humans make snide remarks at him all night.

Unfortunately, the _whole_ inner circle had to go. And Taros doubly had to go, because June wanted to know about the gardens, and in all their years apart, Taros still hasn't learned how to say no to him.

Taros tugs at his collar, grimacing a little. Josephine chose his outfit; it looks fine, he guesses, it's just...itchy. He's in a dark green tunic that she assured him brought out the green in his eyes, golden embroidered leaves trailing down the sleeves. She styled his light chestnut hair as best she could, but since it's not yet long enough to bind back, she had to let it lay loose. In all, he probably looks a perfect gentleman, but the outfit feels too closely-molded to his body. He doesn't like it.

He's still glad he isn't part of the main party for this outing, despite the unfortunate outfit; this way, he can avoid any conversations, lean against the railing of the balcony, and look down at the gardens in peace.

In the moonlight, they look fantastic. The alabaster fountains glimmer and gleam with reflected starlight, the flowers almost glow, and even the attendees of the party can't ruin the sight. Taros wants to go explore the hedge maze, but he knows he needs to be at least somewhat easily found.

The refrains of string instruments from inside make his ear twitch. He wishes Krem was here. And then he reproaches himself for that thought, because _Maker, Taros, can you be any more desperate?_

Since the weeks that have passed since Taros's illness, Krem has gotten...bold. Taros can't make heads or tails of it. They'll be bantering as normal, and then Krem will say something to throw Taros off-balance. A completely innocuous flirt, or just--a _wink_ , or even getting a little too close, and Taros will need a minute to recollect himself.

Ironically, Krem has been the perfect gentleman during their spars. He never oversteps any boundaries or manhandles Taros--not that Taros would particularly mind. Whenever one of them manages to pin the other down, his breath always catches. He wants to be more subtle, but...around Krem, he can't.

He leans his head on the palm of his hand as he moves his gaze to the patrons of the garden. Dorian is there, strolling leisurely. Sera is off to the side, pouting with boredom and looking as uncomfortable in her outfit as Taros feels in his own. Solas is standing near a patch of flowers, the other attendees electing to stay five or more feet away from him.

Taros idly watches as Soros steps into the garden's lower level. He looks around for a moment before he makes a beeline for Dorian. They exchange hushed words. As they turn to leave, Dorian's touch on Soros's lower back is soft and subtle.

"Oh," a voice says behind Taros. "I thought nobody would be up here."

Taros looks back to see Blackwall. His outfit looks good, a black tunic that fits his form, silver curls in the fabric glinting as brightly as the silverite wings pinned to his chest. Even his beard is styled.

"That's why I came up here," Taros says. "That, and it's got a better view of the gardens."

Blackwall steps forward to lean against the banister next to Taros. "I didn't take you for much of a garden type."

Taros shakes his head. "I'm doing research for June," he says. "He just wants to know how fancy Orlesians do it."

"He's curious about this?" Blackwall asks, sweeping his gaze across the gardens. "But his work at Skyhold is already so…."

He hesitates, and Taros decides to save him from an awkward comment for them both. "You know creative types," he says. "Never happy with their work. Has there ever been a carving you've done that you thought was perfect?"

"Not...yet," Blackwall admits. "But one day soon, I hope."

"Maybe," Taros says. "Just don't beat yourself up if you never get there. Nobody does." He pushes away from the banister. "I'm gonna go check on the others inside. Keep my balcony warm, huh?"

Blackwall gives a quiet huff. "I didn't realize you had stock in Halamshiral."

"Of course I do," Taros says as he walks away. "Just look at me." He gestures to the rest of his body.

Blackwall's only response is a laugh.

Lately, Blackwall and June have been...spending time together. At first, June was just helping Dennet with the horses. But then he noticed that Blackwall is great at carving, and he asked Taros to get wood from wherever he was going.

Taros isn't sure how he feels about the situation. At least Blackwall seems like the decent sort; and since he makes June feel happy and safe, that's enough for the time being.

The ballroom is much busier than the gardens. Couples sweep across the floor in impressive dances, following the swelling of the music. Taros is standing on the third floor, able to look down at the ballroom's occupants like he'd been doing in the gardens.

Cassandra is in a corner, watching the crowd like a sentry. Varric is near her, probably trying to make her seem a little less like a guard. Vivienne is mingling with several others, her white mask gleaming gaudily under the lights. Iron Bull is standing with a plate full of food.

Cullen has a flock of attendees around him, tittering. He looks uncomfortable, constantly glancing away and rubbing the back of his head. Taros feels a little bad for the guy, but before he can make a plan, Azhdeha intersects himself. He only has to say a few words before he can escort Cullen away without the gaggle of guests following. Taros can almost feel Cullen's relief from here.

Taros inhales deeply. He's _bored_. He regrets not volunteering to be in the combat party for this event. He lifts his eyes to peruse some of the nearby doors. Maybe he can find something to entertain himself with in another room? He pulls away from the opening that shows the ballroom to head towards one of the doors.

The first one reveals a kind of study. It's cozy and dark; there's an unlit fireplace on one wall, a plush rug, a few bookshelves, and a wooden desk with a chair. Taros opens the door all the way to let in the light, but he still has to ferry the books to the door to make out any words.

Most of the books look boring; they're histories and biographies and the like, and Taros is bored to tears by those genres. He does find one book, though, that gives him pause; it's the one about the blacksmith, the one that Krem caught him reading the first time.

Taros traces the petals of the rose etched in gold on the cover. He, ironically, lost the book shortly after finishing it. Well, it was splattered with blood in an unfortunate and unplanned scrap on the road, and had gotten too thoroughly soaked to actually be of use, so he'd tossed it.

Taros taps his fingers against the cover. He has an idea, but--would it be stupid? Definitely. And it'd show his cards, and it'd be obvious to anyone with half a brain that he's feeling things a little too deeply, but…he wants to do something for Krem.

Before he can talk himself out of it, Taros leaves the room, book in hand.

 

* * *

 

It's midday when they return to Skyhold. Taros is _exhausted_ , though, so he doesn't bother speaking to anyone or doing anything else before he collapses in his cot and falls into a deep sleep.

He wakes up late. At least, it looks late; when he makes his way up to the hold proper, the tavern is still lit up like a campfire, though, with music and sounds of merriment pouring out of its open windows.

He has Josephine's outfit and Krem's gift in his hands. He's keen on getting the outfit back to Josephine as soon as possible; it makes his skin itch to have something so untouchable in his possession. As for Krem's gift...well, he may get lucky.

He's about to start ascending the steps to the citadel when someone careens into his side, wrapping their arms around him and squeezing the life out of him. He stumbles a little with the sheer force, giving an undignified _hrk!_

"Welcome back!" June says, pulling back from the hug to grin at Taros. "Skyhold was boring with everybody missing."

"You mean with you unable to meddle in anyone's romantic affairs," Taros says, mirroring the grin. "I know how you entertain yourself."

June shakes his head. "I do other things," he claims. "But that's beside the point. What's this?" He pats the bundle of clothes in Taros's hands. "Did you get me a gift?"

Taros snorts. "What, top-secret intel on the Winter Palace's gardens isn't enough for you?"

"I'm an optimist," June says. "I won't leave it out of the realm of possibility that you thought to get me something _else_."

"Sorry to disappoint," Taros says. "It's just the outfit I had to wear. I wanted to get it back to Josephine before I got anything on it."

June's eyes widen. "Do you think you could--"

"I'm _not_ putting it on."

"Aw! Please, Tea?" June asks, pouting a little. "I've never seen you all dapper before."

"There's a reason for that," Taros says. "I don't like dressing up."

June huffs. "So you'll let a bunch of nobles see you all prim and proper, but not me? Your best friend?"

Taros shifts. "Well," he begins unsurely. "When you put it like that…."

June immediately brightens up. "You'll put it on?" he asks, hopeful.

Taros stares hard at him, then deflates with a sigh. "Okay, yes, I'll put it on," he says. "But only for a minute. I don't wanna ruin it."

"Great!" June chirps. He grabs Taros's hand and pulls him away. "You can use the tool shed to change--nobody's in it this time of night, and I can keep watch for you."

"Okay," Taros says, following after June. "But I mean it, June: only for a second. The embroidery alone is worth more than my life."

"I know," June says, waving his hand. "Don't _worry_."

Once they're in front of the tool shed, June lets go of Taros to unlock the door. He swings it proudly open, gesturing to the dark interior with a flourish. 

"Your dressing room, my liege." June bows deeply.

Taros snorts as he steps through and says, "Stop. I'll be out in a second."

"Okay!" June says, nearly bouncing on his feet as he shuts the door behind Taros. Taros swears he can hear feet running away, but he chalks it up to a late messenger as he undresses.

It's a tough time getting dressed in the dark, but Taros pushes through. He also pushes a pot off of a table, but it only chips a _little_ bit, so he considers it not a total loss.

When Taros steps back out into the moonlight, he looks down at himself to make sure he buttoned the outfit right (and didn't get anything on it). He freezes when he hears June inhale deeply, though.

"Look at you!" June says. "Tea, you look so good!"

Taros shrugs a shoulder. "Thanks," he says. "It's not--"

"How did your hair look? I'm trying to picture it," June says, squinting. "Can we get closer to the inn? There's more light."

"Sure," Taros says. As they walk, he says, "My hair was--uh, basically like it is now?" He reaches up to run his fingers through the hair, trying to push it back from his brow. "Josephine didn't know what to do with it."

"You mean you looked good enough with it down," June says, grinning brightly at Taros. Now that they're in the light, he says, "Where's the Tea I know who ate mud pies? You look like a prince!"

Taros snorts, flushing a little with all the praise. "Mud pie me was a little young," he says. "Can I change back now?" He tugs at his collar.

June hums and glances at the tavern. "You _could_ ," he says. "Or you could go in there and send Krem spinning."

Taros snorts. "I can barely do that when we spar," he says. "I doubt a change of outfit would make it easier."

"I dunno," June says. "I wanna see his face when you walk in looking like a four-course meal."

Taros shakes his head. "I said just a few minutes and I meant it," he says. "With my luck, there's no telling _what_ I'd get on this thing in there."

"Alright," June says, though he visibly deflates. "I'll respect that. But I _promise_ that he'd be--"

"I thought I heard voices out here," a silhouette behind June says.

It's _Krem_. Of fucking course it's Krem. Who else would it be? Taros snaps his gaze from Krem to June, unable to meet his gaze (or even _speak_ ) after nearly being discovered talking about him.

"Krem!" June says, voice a little _too_ happy. "Great timing. We were just talking about you."

Taros could melt into the ground. Why is June _admitting to it_? He can't find the willpower to look at Krem or to speak yet.

"All good things, I hope," Krem says, a smile in his voice.

"'Course," June says. "Tea was just showing me his Halamshiral outfit. Doesn't he look good in it?"

 _You're fucking killing me, June._ Taros swears he'll pass out if he lets June say one more thing. In an effort to cease June's wingman attempts, he blurts, "It's really itchy, but Jo--"

"Breathtaking," Krem says firmly.

Taros sputters to a stop, eyes flying to Krem as his face heats up. "H-huh?" _Fucking shit._ He's gonna fucking explode.

"We were complimenting you," Krem says, teeth glinting in a broad smile. "If it's itchy, you should take it off." Taros doesn't have to see his eyes in the low light to know he winked.

 _Maker._ "Well, it's--we were--I was…." Taros flounders, then finds his footing. "I was just about to, but--"

"I lost the key!" June says. "To--to the, uh, tool shed," he adds, a little quieter. He looks up at Taros, mischief only flickering in his eyes. "I'll go, um, track down another one. Krem can keep you company."

" _June_ \--"

"I'll be back soon," June says, already walking away. "You'll have fun!"

Taros forlornly watches as June speedwalks away. He's going to kick June's ass for throwing him into a lie. He turns his gaze to Krem's amused face.

"Tool shed?"

"I changed in there," Taros explains. "Since--well, you know. All my stuff is in there, so I can't really change without, uh, all...that."

Krem hums. "That makes sense," he says. Taros thanks his lucky stars. 

"How was Halamshiral?" Krem asks, stepping closer so he doesn't have to speak as loudly over the music. "Chief said he had a great time." He crosses his arms and leans against the side of the building.

Taros shrugs a shoulder. "It was...fine, I guess, if that's your kinda thing," he says.

"Guessing it isn't yours, then."

Taros shakes his head. "Hell no. Just tons of nobles dancing and talking about nothing and something at the same time? I'd rather be on the Storm Coast."

Krem laughs. "That's drastic," he says.

"It's _true_. At least there's shit to do there."

"How _did_ you pass the time?" Krem asks, tilting his head. "If you didn't dance or eat any tiny sandwiches…."

"I studied the gardens," Taros says. "June was curious. And I explored a little." He perks up a little with memory. "I got you something, actually."

"You did?" Krem asks with a blink. "What is it?"

"It's--" Taros pauses as he flushes. "...Er. Easier to explain if you're holding it. It's just in the tool shed." He almost offers to go grab it right then before he remembers that the shed is supposed to be locked.

Krem gives a soft smile. "Thanks in advance, then," he says. He glances up at the window above them, cracked slightly so that Maryden's voice carries out a little. "Can I give you something in return?"

"You don't have to," Taros is quick to say. "I just--it was sort of an impulsive thing, you don't need to feel like you have to repay it. Or anything."

"I _want_ to," Krem says. He offers his hand to Taros. "How about I make up for those dances you missed at the Winter Palace?"

Taros's heart falls over a hurdle. "You--uh." His mouth is dry. _Fuck me._ "Er, I don't--you, um, you know how to dance?"

Krem shrugs his shoulder. "Picked up a few things here 'n' there." He smiles at Taros. "Plus, it's easier to do with someone you like."

Taros forces down the part of his brain that wants him to freak out. He can do this. It's just dancing with a friend, right? He and June danced together all the time when they were younger. This isn't a big deal. Right?

Taros gives (what he hopes is) a soft grin and takes Krem's hand. "Might as well. I get the feeling June is gonna take a while."

"Good to know," Krem says. He curls his warm hand around Taros's and tugs him closer, so they're a few inches apart.

Taros wishes he could stamp out his sprinting heart as he watches Krem. They haven't been this close for an extended period of time before. Taros can see flecks of lighter brown in Krem's dark eyes, can see his individual eyelashes, can see one that's fallen out resting on top of his cheek. He smells like vanilla and nutmeg.

Taros is going to _explode_.

"How much experience d'you have with this sort of thing?" Krem asks.

Taros shrugs a shoulder. "Not much formal training," he says. "And the last time I did it was...uh, in the Alienage."

"So it's been a while," Krem says. "Don't worry. I can help you. We'll start easy." He lifts his other hand to grab Taros's free wrist, then leads Taros's hands up to his neck. "Put your arms around my neck."

"Sounds a bit like sparring already," Taros grumbles to hide his blush as he follows orders. Krem is warm, and his form is sturdy. It's easy to feel the muscles moving under his skin in such an intimate position.

"You're not far off," Krem says, a twinkle in his eyes. 

Taros jumps when he feels Krem's hands alight on his hips, though he tries his best to hide it.

"This alright?" Krem murmurs.

Taros nods. "Yyyep," he says. "Yeah, totally--yeah."

"You don't have to force yourself," Krem says. "If I'm making you uncomfortable--"

"You're fine," Taros interrupts. "I just wasn't expecting it." He gives a confident grin that he doesn't quite feel. "You remember I can throw you to the ground easily, right?"

Krem snickers. "You used to," he says. "But a lot's changed since we started sparring, huh?" 

"Yeah," Taros agrees. "But not that. Promise."

Krem huffs through his smile. He tugs Taros away from the tavern, and starts to sway them in a small circle along with the music. Taros keeps his eyes on his feet, making sure he doesn't step on Krem's toes. Plus, he doesn't want Krem to know he's beet-red in the face just from _this_. He feels like a teenager.

They dance like that for a few minutes. Taros tries to focus on the music or his own movements, but his mind keeps flying to how warm Krem is, how his shirt is shifting with Taros's motions, how his hands are firm on Taros’s hips--

"You know," Krem whispers, "I won't attack you if you step on my toes."

Taros looks up at Krem, flush deepening--since that's possible, somehow. "Sorry," he says. "Just--uh, I don't wanna...hurt you."

Krem's smile melts a little. "Don't worry so much about it," he says. "I can take a little foot action from a twinkle-toes like you."

Taros snorts, his face breaking into a grin. "A _what_?"

"You heard me."

"I do not have twinkle-toes."

"You do," Krem insists. "With how much you dodge around in our spars, you have to."

Taros laughs, tightening his grip around Krem's shoulders a fraction. "That's _tactical_. It doesn't say anything about my toes."

Krem swings Taros around a little more enthusiastically. "You say that," he says. "But here you are, not stepping on my feet at all."

Taros shakes his head. "Maybe you're just predictable."

Krem snickers. "I'll just have to work harder to sweep you off your feet, huh?"

Taros laughs, but can't respond otherwise past his flush.

They dance for a few more songs after that, transitioning from fast to slow with ease. Taros never _fully_ loses his flush, but he never loses his smile, either, so he thinks it might be a worthy sacrifice. They exchange a few words, but nothing of real substance. Honestly, Taros is content to just dance with Krem and enjoy the music.

They pull apart after a particularly fast-paced song that Krem insisted on spinning through. Taros feels a little like a hurricane as his hands slip from Krem's neck and he stumbles away, laughing so hard he has stitches in his stomach. He leans against a tree to wait out the spinning of his eyeballs.

When he catches sight of Krem again, Krem is leaning back against a building, eyes shut and a big grin on his face. His hair is messy and his cheeks are flushed with exertion, and Taros has never wanted to kiss him more.

"Okay," Krem pants. "Okay. That's what you missed."

Taros gives another weak laugh. "Yeah?" he asks. "What about the tiny sandwiches?"

"I'll work on getting those to you next," Krem says. He opens his eyes, grinning directly at Taros. "I'm surprised June hasn't found a key yet."

"Key?"

"For the tool shed?" Krem asks. "The one we had to wait for before you could change?"

"Oh!" Taros says. "Right, yeah, _that_ key. Uh--" He pushes his hair back from his forehead. "Um. He might've just unlocked the shed without telling us. We could go check."

"Fine by me," Krem says. "Long as you're not spinning anymore."

Taros shakes his head and stands fully. "No," he says. 

They make their way in silence, though it's far from awkward. They keep exchanging grins, and light nudges with their shoulders. Again, Taros feels like a teenager.

When they reach the tool shed, Taros wants to crawl in on himself when he realizes the door is ajar. He only coughs as he nudges the door open further and glances back at Krem.

"Guess you were right," Krem says with a broad grin.

"Guess so," Taros says. He steps into the dark tool shed, making his way to the back where his things are still gathered.

Once he turns around with the book in his hands and nearly runs into Krem, he realizes Krem followed him inside. He narrowly avoids crashing into him.

"Oh," Taros says. "You're, uh--you're very close."

"Sorry." Krem shuffles back, which Taros can only tell by the sounds. "I didn't realize that was the end."

"It's okay," Taros says. "If we can go back into the light, though, you can see your gift."

Nothing happens for a moment. Taros is almost tempted to repeat himself before Krem speaks. "Taros," he says, voice low.

"Yeah?"

"Was the tool shed ever actually locked?"

"Uh." Taros scrambles for an excuse, but he knows he's been caught. At least he can come clean now. "Well--before I changed, yeah. But we never actually...locked it up again."

Krem hums. "So why'd June leave so quick?"

 _Fucking hell._ Taros can't think of an actual answer for that. What can he say? If he says the truth, what if Krem keeps asking? But if he says June just didn't want to be around them, would that hurt Krem's feelings?

"He...wanted to leave us alone. I--I guess." Taros shifts a little. "Uh, anything else?"

Krem is silent for another few moments, and Taros wishes that he could see his face. Eventually, though, Krem says, "That's all."

Taros lets out a quiet breath he didn't know he was holding before he follows Krem out of the shed. When they're doused in moonlight again, Taros can see that Krem looks fine.

"So what's this gift?" Krem asks, a grin still teasing at his mouth.

Taros inhales deeply before he thrusts the book, cover-up, at Krem. "This."

Krem lifts his brows as he gently takes the book, fingers brushing near Taros's. "A book?" he asks, and drags a finger down the cover. "Looks familiar."

"It's...the one that I was reading when you first found me," Taros says. He crosses his arms as he continues, "You just seem interested in what I'm reading, so I saw this at Halamshiral and figured...well, why not? Since my other copies have gotten ruined, it's yours."

Krem smiles softly down at the book. "Didn't think you were sentimental."

"I'm not," Taros is quick to say. "This was--uh, like I said. Impulse. And sticking it to the nobles. Steal their fancy books, show them who's boss, you know."

"It's okay if you are." Krem turns his smile up to Taros. "Your secret's safe with me, Grumpy."

"I'm gonna ask Varric to make a nickname for _you_ ," Taros says. "Then you'll know how it feels."

"Could always make one yourself."

Taros hums. "Don't tempt me. I'm bad at nicknames."

Krem grins. "I trust you." He lifts a hand in a loosely-curled fist. "I'll let you change now."

Taros tries not to hesitate when he bumps his own fist against Krem's. "Thanks," he says. "Have a nice night, Krem."

"You too," Krem says, stepping backwards. "Spar tomorrow?"

"Without a doubt," Taros replies.

Krem turns around to leave then, and Taros steps back into the tool shed.

Once he's closed the door behind him, Taros leans back against it and hangs his head. He wills the heat in his face to go away, and holds a hand over his heart to try and calm it down. 

He's never felt so giddy before--not that he can remember, anyway. Even just thinking about dancing with Krem brings the smile back to his face.

He hates when June is right.


	8. Calming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adamant is hard. The fallout is harder.

Taros can't calm down.

How can he, when he sees spiders skittering in the corner of his eye at all hours of the day? Why should he, when he's been thrust up the Fade's ass, chewed up, and spit back out? He can't, especially not with the image of a headstone with his name flying through his head every time he closes his eyes.

But it's okay that he can't relax. It just means more opportunities to train. It's rare when he doesn't have _some_ sort of weapon in his hand, when he isn't attacking something or someone. He's fine. He's just gonna use this restlessness to improve, so he isn't so fucking _scared_ anymore.

June tries to help; he offers to listen. Taros appreciates it, but June wasn't there, and frankly, Taros can't talk about it. _Won't_ talk about it. It's done, and he's determined to move on. So what if his limbs ache with fatigue? Who cares if his eyes drag like anvils? He's fine, and he'll insist on that to anyone who asks.

Krem notices it, too. At least Taros is pretty sure he does--the guy's perceptive. The first day they were back, he offered to take a break on the sparring, maybe they just wanted to sit and talk for a bit. Taros said he'd never heard a worse idea as he grabbed his training sword. 

At least Krem has been off on a mission since then. Well, the Chargers have. Taros misses him, but he refuses to admit to it. He tries to tell himself it's better, so that he can work at his own pace, which is relentless nowadays.

This goes on for a few weeks. He feels like he did when he first left the alienage, so he tries to push himself harder. The less time he has to think about Adamant, the less opportunity he has to freak out. It works; he can at least sleep for a few hours now, even if it's just all tossing and turning and uneasy dreams. 

He almost misses when his biggest problem was going to a fucking party.

June catches him on the morning that Krem is supposed to get back, when the sun is barely peeking over the Frostbacks, and Taros is on his way to the training yard. Taros doesn't see where he comes from, but he _does_ feel June's tight grip on his bicep, which startles him to a stop.

"Good morning to you too," Taros says.

"Morning," June says. "We're not putting this off any longer."

Taros feels a distant bell of fear ring in his stomach. "Putting _what_ off?"

"Talking," June says. He drags Taros over to the base of the rampart, where few people are likely to accidentally overhear, and fewer still are likely to be intentionally listening.

"Have I been ignoring you?" Taros asks.

"You know that's not what I mean," June says. He hesitates, then softens both his grip and his gaze. "I'm worried about you, Tea."

"You don't have any reason to be," Taros says carefully. "I haven't been in any real danger for the past few weeks."

"You know that's not what I'm talking about." June's eyes turn big and earnest, and Taros wishes he could run from the way they make him feel caught. "I'm talking about Adamant."

"I think you'd be better off talking to Blackwall," Taros says. "I'm sure he's a lot more shaken up over it than I am."

"It isn't a competition, and you _are_ shaken up over it," June says.

"Said who?"

June huffs. "I can tell, Tea. I've known you since you were toddling around. When something bothers you, you try to work yourself to death to get it out of your mind."

Taros tries not to shift with the uncomfortable weight in his stomach. "So what?" he asks. "At least I'm getting some use out of it. What doesn't kill you makes you stronger, right?"

June shakes his head. "No," he says. "You need to _process_ , Tea. Ignoring it isn't healthy. You're running yourself into the ground."

" _Everyone_ is putting in overtime right now," Taros tries to defend. "Everyone needs to be at their best when we go after Corypheus. We're getting close, June."

"That's _not_ what you're doing," June says, heated. He hesitates, pulls back a little. "I--I know you're your own man, Tea, and I respect that. But when's the last time you actually had a restful sleep?"

Taros sets his jaw, not meeting June's gaze. He can't answer that, and June knows he can't.

When they stand in silence for a few more tense moments, June sighs. "I can't force you to talk," he mutters, squeezing Taros's arm before he releases it. "But please do. To me, to Krem, to anyone. You need to, Tea. And I--I can't lose you again."

Taros feels himself soften at June's voice. "You won't," he says, because he knows he needs to reassure June even though he also knows he can't promise that. Not after what he's just been through.

June gives him a sad smile before he steps away, off towards the main hold. Taros gets the urge to run after him, to spill every dark thought he's had since Adamant, but he holds back. He doesn't know why. Maybe it's just too bright outside, too easy to forget.

He resolves to do just that as he makes his way to the training yard.

 

* * *

 

The Chargers aren't quiet when they come back. When they're all together, they laugh and crow and make everyone around them feel like they're at a (good) party.

Taros forces himself to focus, to ignore the camaraderie bouncing off the walls of Skyhold as he stares at the ragged training dummy in front of him. Part of him thrills at the idea of Krem being just a glance away, and another part of him chills at it, wants to run away and hide where Krem won't find him.

Taros takes another slash at the wooden figure in front of him, gritting his teeth. He's been going at it too long, he knows. His arms shake with the desire to drop his sword, his legs creak with how tense he's holding them, his eyelids burn with how badly they want to slide shut, and the sweat trickling between his back and his tunic feels like a river.

He takes another swipe of his blade, ignoring his body's protests. June's voice echoes in his head, but he shoves it to the back of his mind, adding a guilty stomach twist to his body's growing list of ailments.

Eventually, the Chargers' voices trail off--as they separate, or as they leave Skyhold, or as they enter the keep. Taros doesn't keep track. He just moves on to the next dummy when his original foe's arm tears off, then continues slashing at the new enemy.

He only glances back when he hears footsteps crunching towards him. It's Krem, already out of his armor. He has a new scratch on his cheek.

"Too busy to say hello?" Krem asks once he's close enough. He has a smile on his face, but it's small, guarded. Worried.

"Hi," Taros says. He doesn't bother to say anything else--how can he excuse wanting to continue fighting a fake enemy rather than welcoming Krem back?

Krem's gaze sweeps across the training dummies. With how much Taros has been attacking them lately, they're definitely worn and damaged. He imagines Krem can piece the reason together.

"Looks like you could use a break," Krem finally comments. "D'you want to fill me in on what I missed 'round here?"

Taros's gut reaction is to say _no_ and turn back to his dummy, but he swallows the instinct. He knows that if he relaxes, things that he's trying to bury will come back, but...June's voice won't get out of his head. _I can't lose you again._ Would June lose him again, if he declined to go with Krem?

Taros nods slowly, stiffly. "Sure." He turns his back on the dummy, walks closer to Krem, slides his sword back in its sheath. 

"Mind if we go somewhere more comfortable than the training yard?" Krem asks, even as he starts walking.

Taros can't really say anything, though his feet have a mind of their own when they follow Krem unquestioningly.

They walk in silence. Unlike usual, it's tense. The air is heavy with expectation. Taros wants to ask about the mission, but he focuses on concretes instead. The stone under his boots. The howling wind. The clanging of swords as they get closer to the main army encampment. The increased chill as they walk between the tents. The warmth in Krem's tent, which is smaller than the rest and only has one cot.

"Is it just you in here?" Taros asks immediately. His tent has five other soldiers bunked in it; it isn't comfortable, but it _is_ efficient.

Krem nods. "The Commander insisted when he found out that I pass," he says. "For my own safety. He's fine with it, but he didn't want to risk an incident. When they first find out, not many people are that nice to people like me."

"Like us," Taros gently corrects before he can reconsider.

Krem blinks and looks surprised for once. "You--?" He furrows his brow. "...Huh."

Taros nods. "I don't make a habit of sharing it. Don't want people to know. Even Cullen." 

"How d'you hide from your tentmates?" 

"I hired an apostate a few years back," Taros answers. "Just for the top. It was easier to hide once I did. Other than you, June's the only one that knows." 

He realizes with a start what kind of implications that could have. To distract Krem from them, he adds, "I--admire you, y'know. For being so open. Like you said, a lot of people aren't good about it."

Krem smiles, soft and genuine. "Thanks. And...thanks for telling me. I'll take it to my grave."

Taros wants to smile at the theatrics, but he's distracted by a memory. Just a flash--a vision he'd seen in the Fade of Krem laying on his back, bloody and singed, a group of Venatori mages surrounding him with flames licking their palms, the rest of the Chargers dead or incapacitated on the gray beach sand.

"You alright?"

When Taros throws the memory-- _hauls_ it--out of his head, he sees that Krem has a concerned frown now.

Taros nods. "Fine," he says, though his voice is small. He clears his throat. "You wanted to know about what you missed. Right?"

Krem nods, though he watches Taros for another moment before he moves. He turns away, gestures grandly to the bed as he says, "Take a seat." He grabs a thin book and pencil from the bed and steps to the other side of the tent, settling on the dirt.

Taros leans his sword against the cot and perches on the edge, ready to take off at a moment's notice. He's wary now, wanting to defend against any other intrusive memories from Adamant. 

He can do this.

Krem draws as Taros talks. He starts simple; there isn't much to recount, really. Everyone is picking themselves up from Adamant, it feels like, so everyone is subdued. The servants' gossip is dry and feels like it happened ages ago, though Krem still seems amused by it. But as Taros speaks, he's reminded of things. It gets harder to pull away from the memories, from the flashes of paralyzing fear. 

"One of the cooks ran screaming out of the kitchen because of a spider, and pushed over Dennet on their way out," and thousands of spiders as big as mabari are skittering towards him. 

"One of the nobles that's been staying here said he's planning on leaving because of a recent patch of ragweed growing near his quarters, which he's allergic to," and June is standing behind a chuckling pride demon. 

"He said he wanted the name of the gardener responsible," and June is facedown, limbs askew, unmoving. 

"People kept asking after you, too--the Chargers," and Krem is bloody, a snarl frozen on his face. 

A gravestone that reads nothing but _Taros Alaven_ , and he's silent, because what's more terrifying than the thought of death? Than knowing that you're dead, or should be dead, or as good as dead, and fighting anyway, because that's all you know how to do?

He's glad this one was last, and he can use the excuse that he's done recounting everything to justify his silence.

He should know that Krem can see right through him by now, though. Krem murmurs, "You can talk about it, y'know."

"Talk about what?" Taros asks, a little too forceful.

"Adamant," Krem says, gaze smoldering in the candlelight. "You're not over it."

"I will be," Taros says automatically. "I just need--need to…." He trails off, remembering June's words from earlier. His face falls.

He can't do this.

He inhales slowly, lifts a hand to cover his mouth as he stares at the brown dirt. His throat constricts, locks all the words in him so he can't squeak one syllable out. He forces his lips to form the words against his palm until he can finally whisper, "I'm scared."

With that out, his tongue burns with the need to spit out the words as quickly as possible.

"I'm still scared," he says as he moves his hand. "The Fade is fucking terrifying. We landed and I thought it'd be fine, but it--it just--you were there, and June and everyone else, but it was--it was bad, so so so bad and so so fucked up. You were dying or dead or being killed, and it was hard to tell who was real or who wasn't. And there were _spiders_ everywhere, and normally I'm okay with them but that combined with everything else just-- _just_ \--"

Taros rockets off the bed, turns so that Krem can't see him tearing up. "And there was a fucking headstone with _my name_ on it, and I can't get it out of my head. I could've--could've died there, in the Fade, no body to bury. And I didn't know if I was already dead, if that was just my own personal hell, going through spiders and demons and you and June dying over a-and over--and _fuck_ because, y-y'know, I don't wanna die, I _don't_ , but I didn't--"

Taros hunches in on himself, wrapping his arms around himself in a sad attempt to anchor himself as the tears scald his face. "And it's fucking _stupid_. I hate myself for being so worked up over it, b-because--because what the fuck was it if not some smoke-'n'-magic shit from some demons? None of it was real, but it felt real and makes me think what if it eventually _becomes_ real, and then I freak out because--'cause I'm not ready to die, or to lose you or June or--or anyone, really, 'cause you're all some k-kind of family to me now, and--if I have to lose _another fucking family_ I'll--I'll just--"

Taros stops, voice choked, when he feels a hand on his upper arm, lets it spin him around. Krem's dark gaze is wide and accepting and understanding, and the opposite of what Taros needs because he needs to stop crying immediately, and Krem looking at him with so much tenderness really isn't helping.

And then Krem wraps his arms around Taros, pulls him close, and Taros is a lost cause. What remains of the dam in him crumbles, washed away by the tidal wave formed by his trembling heart. He hugs Krem tightly, buries his face in Krem's shoulder and lets _go_ \--shoulders heaving, heart torn open, barely registering the smooth circles being rubbed into his back.

Taros doesn't know how long he cries, but when he calms down, he realizes that they're sitting on the bed, still wrapped up together. He keeps his raw face pressed into Krem's shoulder, unwilling to pull back to let either of them survey the damage. 

Krem is running his fingers through the end of Taros's hair. Taros mumbles, "...Sorry. You didn't ask for--all that."

"Don't say sorry," Krem says, voice gentle yet stern. "I care about you, so yeah, I asked for all that. Better out in the air than in your head." His voice softens. "I'm not going anywhere. Neither is June, neither are you. I can't promise nobody will die, but...Corypheus isn't gonna win."

Taros exhales lowly. "You can't know that," he says, even though he wants to believe Krem.

"You can't know we _won't_ ," Krem says. He slides his hand down to cup Taros's neck. "If there wasn't any hope at all, why would so many people be fighting?" He finally pulls back, meeting Taros's gaze firmly. "Demons haven't won yet. Don't let them make you think they have."

Faced with the full might of Krem's earnest, concerned face, Taros feels his worries crumbling. "You're right," he mutters. "--Sorry. Again."

"I don't want an apology," Krem says. He reaches his other hand up to wipe away the moisture still on Taros's face. "I want you to feel better. This is part of that. Your fears deserve to be heard, but not rule over you." His mouth creases in a small smile. "So maybe get some sleep from here on out, huh?"

Taros warms. "I've been--" He stops, backtracks. "How did you know?"

"June mentioned it when I got back," Krem says. "Gave me a rundown of what I missed, said he was worried, asked me to talk to you." He wipes his thumb across Taros's cheek again, his hand lingering. "He cares a lot."

"More than he should," Taros says. "More than I deserve."

"Not true. You just need to be willing to share a bit more with your best friend than with someone like me."

Taros furrows his brow. "What does that mean? You're both important."

Krem smiles. "You know," he says. "You're smart, and I'm not being subtle."

Taros realizes then how warm Krem's palm against his cheek is, and how close they are. Have they been a few inches apart since they started talking? Taros's eyes only flickers to Krem's lips for a _second_ , he swears, and it's only because he wants to know how they look from this close, but he knows Krem sees because the smile widens.

"There we go," Krem says. He pulls away, taking his warmth and solid form with him. "I was wondering if you'd figure it out." He stands up.

Taros's face is burning. "You--" He huffs. "How do you do that?"

"Stand? I just used my legs--"

"No." Taros scrunches his nose disapprovingly at Krem, who gives a quiet laugh. "You make me feel. Deep."

"I'd wager you always felt like that," Krem says. "You just needed help to express yourself."

That's not right, but how can Taros explain that before coming to Skyhold, he felt as cold inside as the Frostbacks? How can he just say that being with Krem has stirred something in him that hasn't been stirred in a long time? How can he tell Krem that, despite everything going on, he's smiling and laughing more, and it has to do with the way that Krem has made cracks in his armor?

He settles with a neutral, "If you say so."

Krem grins, then says, "Come up to the Rest with me. The Boss is going to buy everyone a round to celebrate the return of his merry band of misfits."

Taros lifts a brow. "How d'you know?"

"He told me he would," Krem says, depositing his book and pencil on the bed. "And he promised _me_ , so he better've waited for me."

Taros stands. "I'm surprised you didn't head there first."

"Had to make sure you were doing alright," Krem says, bouncing his shoulder off of Taros's. "And I figured you'd need a drink afterwards."

"...Thanks," Taros says, struggling past the warm clouds clogging his throat. He tries to shove down the urge to embrace Krem again as he holds open the tent flap for Taros and ushers him through.

"Anything for my grumpy Prince Charming," he says, disarming grin on his face.

Taros gives an ugly snort of surprise. "Don't call me a prince ever again."

"Excuse me," Krem says. "Would you prefer I call you a handsome blacksmith?"

Taros grins at Krem even as his face warms. "You read it."

"'Course I did," Krem says. "It came with the highest praise. I had to."

"What was your favorite part?"

"How do I pick?"

"Try."

As they walk back up to Skyhold proper, chatting animatedly about the book Taros gave Krem, Taros finds he feels thousands of pounds lighter than he has since Adamant. He knows that there's still some things troubling him, but...he isn't afraid to stop, now. To calm down.

He hopes that feeling remains.


	9. Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taros is a single touch away from bursting into flame.

Taros is a single touch away from bursting into flame.

Since his breakdown in Krem's arms, he's gotten...better about sharing. He isn't working himself to the bone, at least, or pushing anyone away, so he considers that a success.

But Krem is overt now. His touches are lingering, and they always send a jolt through Taros--even something as simple as bumping their fists together. He's amped up the flirting, too, which is just unbearably confusing. Taros can't tell if it's sincere or platonic.

They hang out in Krem's tent more often. Taros feels safe reading there, and it's less of a walk than up to the ramparts, and it's warmer, and Krem is there besides, so why not? Krem is the one who offered it, but Taros took the deal with both hands and never looked back.

After a while, Krem stops waking up to let him in every morning. He says Taros can let himself in, just _be quiet or I'll be grumpier than you_. Which is fine--Taros is good at being quiet, being unnoticed. And he hates to admit it, but he likes reading along Krem's even, peaceful breathing. Sometimes he matches the pace, eyes focused on one word--until he realizes what he's doing, then forces himself to hurry along.

He usually reads until Krem is fully awake, and then excuses himself so Krem can get ready for the day. (After a while, Krem suggests he stick around, but Taros never goes for it. The last thing he wants is to intrude on Krem's privacy. And besides, he has to leave as soon as possible after seeing Krem with messy hair and a raspy voice because--because, well, it does _things_ to his stomach.)

They spend time together at night, too. More than once they've walked back from the Herald's Rest together in various states of coherence. They usually reach Krem's tent first, then talk until well into the night, Krem sketching in his notebook, before parting.

(Taros has had to turn down a "sleepover" invitation more than once. He knows he wouldn't be able to handle that, not if he couldn't be as cuddly as he wanted. Not that he would want to be unbearably cuddly. Would Krem even like tangling up under a blanket together?)

June, as always, has the time of his life with the news. He asks for the smallest details, and insists that Taros should just come out and admit to his crush to Krem because it's "so obvious" that he feels similarly. After Taros explains his breakdown with Krem, June seems even more insistent on them becoming an item.

The three of them sometimes spend time together--June is a wingman, but his tactics have changed from letting Taros and Krem be alone together to ensuring they're complimenting each other as often as possible. It's horrifying. It leaves Taros running Krem’s words over in his head with a fine-toothed comb for _hours_. No, he doesn't admit that to anyone.

In short, Taros and Krem have fallen into a steady stream of company. It's unheard of when they go an entire day without at least speaking; they spar, or they drink, or they spend time with June, or they swap stories in Krem's tent, or Krem draws or sews while Taros reads nearby, or Taros reads while Krem dozes. It's a comfortable friendship, all one-sided romantic tension aside. 

The thing about tension is that it has to snap eventually.

Taros is in Krem's tent, flipping through a book. He's almost done with it (thankfully--it isn't very good, but he's been running low on decent books). Krem is sitting and drawing on the other edge of the bed, near but with a comfortable distance between them. They're unwinding from their respective long days; Cullen hired Taros to train some recruits, and Krem was tasked with guarding the encampment. 

Their only light comes from a small nub of a candle, almost burned out entirely. Taros will have to leave soon. His eyes are dragging, but he doesn't want to end this moment prematurely. He likes just existing with Krem like this.

"How's the book?"

Taros looks up at Krem, who's leaning back on his hands, and shrugs. "Not great. I'll be happy when it's over."

"Then why read it?" Krem shifts a little, more oriented towards Taros.

"To figure out what happens. I hate leaving a story unfinished."

Krem hums a little in acknowledgement. His notebook is set off to the side, his hand next to Taros's. "How's this story gonna end?"

"It looks like the horsemaster's son is gonna try to fight the bandits _alone_ for some reason, but--"

Krem chuckles softly and shakes his head. "Not that one." He scoots a little closer, lowering his voice. "I mean your story. With the Inquisition. Corypheus won't be a problem forever, you know."

Taros furrows his brow down at his book. "I...haven't thought much about it," he says truthfully. "I dunno. Maybe I'll go back to doing what I did before." His stomach recoils at the thought of leaving June again, though. (And Krem.) "Maybe not."

"Have you considered joining a traveling band of mercenaries?" Krem asks, disarming grin on his face. "Pay's good, you're never alone, you're doing the same thing anyway…."

"D'you mean the Chargers?" Taros asks. "You're inviting me to the Chargers?"

"Why not?" Krem asks in turn. "You're good with a sword, easy on the eyes, and I like you."

Taros warms a little. How is it so easy for Krem to get him to do that? In an effort to ignore the coiling in his gut, he asks, "What about Bull?"

"He's the one who suggested it," Krem says. "It's just an offer. You don't have to take it if you're not into it, and I won't be hurt if you don't."

Taros nods. "Okay," he says. "...Thanks. Even if I don't take it, the offer means a lot." He gives a small grin.

Krem returns it, swaying a little closer. "Well, I didn't want to leave you scrambling for a job after this is all done."

"Would hardly be _your_ fault if I was." Taros tries not to think about how close Krem is, or the smell of vanilla and nutmeg coming from him, or how dark it's getting as the candle burns down.

"I still care," Krem murmurs. "Don't think that ending this will change that."

Taros's heart stutters. His collar itches warmly around his neck, and by now he's closed his book. He knows he's leaning a little into Krem, but he can't help it. He flushes at the response he wants to give-- _I care, too_ \--then glances at the candle. "Light's almost out," he mutters.

"Are you gonna leave?"

Krem's eyes are glittering, the light gleams off his lips. He looks...serious. Earnest. There's no hint of a flirty joke in his face, and that alone makes Taros clutch his book for dear life.

He certainly doesn't _want_ to leave, but he forces himself to nod. "I always do."

"You don't have to," Krem says. His eyes are focused on Taros's, almost like he's trying to discern something without asking.

"I'm not gonna put you out of a bed for no reason," Taros replies. "My tent's not that far."

"If that's the only thing stopping you, we could always share," Krem says. Again, there's no sign of a joke in his face. His mouth is set firmly, almost like it does when they're sparring and Taros has the upper hand.

Taros doesn't have the upper hand here. The words make his breath leave him, make his heart twist and shout. He scrambles for a response--why should he say no, again?

The warm glow fades as the candle finally flickers out. A beat of silence follows it.

Taros feels something warm and soft brush against his lips. It could be a breath, or….

His willpower snaps.

He moves forward, pressing his mouth more firmly against Krem's. Krem meets him stubbornly, one hand curling in his hair. The smell of vanilla and nutmeg surrounds Taros, makes his brain feel like it's floating in a cloud. He can't get enough of it. His head swims.

Their mouths are gentle and slow at first, but after a few seconds, the kiss deepens. Krem drops his hand away, and before Taros knows it, his back is pressing into the cot, and Krem's warmth is surrounding him, settling against his thighs.

Taros lifts his hands on instinct, settling them on Krem's waist. His fingers slip under Krem's shirt, and they nearly burn with the feeling of the skin there, taut with muscle.

Krem pulls away to breathe, a grin in his voice, "Eager."

Taros only hums in the affirmative before he lunges up, sealing their lips again.

He’s working on pure instinct. His head can't catch up with what's happening, but his heart is thundering happily in his chest. Krem's own fingers trail under Taros's shirt, palms settling against his stomach, and warmth writhes low in his gut.

They part a few seconds after that, both breathing heavily. Taros keeps his eyes shut, though he feels Krem press their foreheads together. An involuntary smile tugs at his mouth.

"And here I thought you'd be shy about a kiss," Krem says, a chuckle laying low in his voice.

"From you?" Taros asks, opening his eyes. "Never. I just wasn't sure if you wanted to."

Krem pulls away, sitting up, palms still scalding on Taros's stomach. "How much more obvious could I've been?"

"Could've done this sooner," Taros says, if only to defend his pride. Besides, the warmth surging in Taros's stomach at the sight of Krem from that angle demands to know _why_ they haven't been doing this all along.

"And risk scaring you away?" Krem shakes his head. "Definitely not."

"I would've been all for it," Taros promises. He rubs his thumbs in small circles against the skin of Krem's waist, admiring the softness.

"I'll be sure to tell past me that, then," Krem says. He swings his leg over Taros, so he can sit next to him instead. "Save him a few months of questioning."

"Questioning?" Taros asks, sitting up. "I thought you always knew. June made it obvious."

"He did," Krem says. "But I didn't know if _you_ were ready to accept it."

Taros watches Krem quietly, admiring him. He looks good in a low light. It might be pitch black to Krem, but Taros can at least see his outline; his hair gently tousled, the light following the slope of his nose, the edges of his lips.

"What changed?" Taros asks.

"I've been drawing _you_ more than anything else," Krem confesses. "Figured I'd give it a shot to get you off my mind. It's frustrating when every face turns into yours."

"I thought you said I was easy on the eyes," Taros accuses. "Or was that someone else?"

Krem snickers and leans into Taros. "Why would I look at a drawing when you're right here?"

"Pictures last longer." Taros curls around Krem a little, noses behind his ear to inhale more of that addictive scent.

"Mm," Krem hums. "Still prefer looking at you."

Taros's lips quirk up as he warms. "Thanks."

They sit there in silence for a few moments, breathing together. Taros presses his forehead to the back of Krem's head, letting his eyes slip shut, arms on either side of Krem.

Taros is halfway to falling asleep right then when Krem quietly asks, "Does this change your mind about leaving?"

"Depends," Taros murmurs. "D'you mind if I get touchy?"

"I hoped you would," Krem says, another smile in his voice.

"Then yeah," Taros says. "I'll stay. Goodnight."

Krem huffs. "You're not falling asleep like _this_. You'll kill your back."

"And yet here I am," Taros says. "Falling asleep."

Krem huffs and spins, dislodging Taros. He gently pushes Taros until he's laying on his back again. Taros cracks his eyes open, blearily watching Krem situate both himself and Taros. The cot is only made to fit one person, so it's a squeeze, but eventually, Krem is laying on Taros's chest, ear pressed to his heart.

Taros curls an arm over Krem's shoulders, letting his eyes slip shut again.

"Think Cullen would give me a bigger cot if I asked?" Krem mutters.

Taros huffs a small laugh. "If he had one."

"He's gotta. Chief has to sleep somewhere."

"We could just trade with him," Taros sleepily suggests.

Krem snorts. "In a choice between the floor and Iron Bull's bed, I'd take the floor."

"That’s another option."

Krem laughs again, warm breath rustling past Taros's shirt. "We can discuss more when you're not half-asleep."

"Mhm," Taros hums. 

"'Night, Taros."

Taros doesn't respond past another low hum, already drifting off to sleep thanks to the vanilla air filling his lungs.

He feels like he's in a dream before he even falls asleep.


End file.
